The Army Colonel's Daughter
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Jenny Shepard: seventeen-year-old daughter of a formidable and respected Army Colonel; Leroy Jethro Gibbs: somewhat of a Marine savant, looking for the girl a late friend told him to find. When the redhead Jenny catches his eye, he knows he's found her - but he's got her commanding old father to contend with. AU [clearly]; Jibbs [so Jibbs]; [so different from anything I've done].
1. Prologue I

.

* * *

_prologue i  
june_  
_2007_

_'something wicked this way comes'_

* * *

The recruitment office in Eastern Market was humming with the usual brawny male-dominated activity: a Marine Gunnery Sergeant, a Navy Lieutenant, and an Army Corporal were bumming around the empty office shooting the bull.

In the corner, a young Marine Lance Corporal kicked a hacky sack repeatedly at the wall. He lounged lazily in a plastic chair by a jug of lukewarm drinking water—largely ignored by his superiors—and occasionally showed off a lazy, smug kind of skill with the toy as he flipped it around quickly and never let it touch the ground. It was a hot, uneventful Monday in the middle of June, and the joint recruitment office had been a dead zone all morning. The Navy and the Marines were supposed to be there; the Army had dropped in for a chat with the Gunnery Sergeant.

Corporal Clayton Cassidy was leaning against the wall, one leg propped behind him, a thick file tucked under his arm, and a plastic cup of water in his hand. There was sweat on his brow from the relentless sun, and he looked harassed. Lieutenant Matthew Stevens was reading the new recruitment brochures and making snide comments, and Gunnery Sergeant Brock Jarvis was chewing gum sternly and glaring at Cassidy.

"What the hell're you still hangin' around here for?" he groused. "You aimin' to start another civil war?"

Cassidy snorted and rolled his eyes, gulping down his water.

"That a crack about the army or my southern heritage?" he retorted.

"Both," growled Jarvis good-naturedly. He shrugged. "I ain't worried if you G.I. Joe's wanna fight," he blustered gruffly.

"You think the devil dogs can out-fight Green Berets?"

"Got us a coupla' SEALS," Jarvis said, jerking his thumb at Stevens.

"Ain't gonna do you much good on land."

"What're you gonna do, call in the Chair Force for back up?"

The two men snorted with laughter, poking at each other all in good fun. The hacky sack bounced loudly against the wall. Lieutenant Stevens flipped a page in the booklet and snorted, shaking his head at some trussed up, glorified picture of boot camp. Sellin' it beautifully, they were. Jarvis leaned forward and started folding a paper airplane with extreme boredom, raising his brows at Cassidy.

"Who're you avoiding'?" he prompted.

Cassidy gestured at the file under his arm with his plastic cup.

"The Hound," he said grimly, a reluctant look crossing his features.

"I always heard Colonel Shepard was all bark," Stevens said, without looking up from the brochure. He smirked at something else, and Cassidy gave a bark of disbelieving laughter.

"You ain't never felt him bite, then," he said dryly, thinking of the tough as nails, solid as rock, and legendary old Colonel in Georgetown—they called him _The Hound_ because he reminded his men of the German Shepherds they trained: loyal and reliable, but ruthless when need be. And his bark—was definitely not as bad as his vicious bite.

Cassidy scoffed.

"Who the hell told ya he was all bark?" he demanded.

Jarvis leaned back and chucked his paper airplane across the room. It caught a dismal two seconds of airtime and then nose-dived into the floor. The hacky sack still bounced, and the superiors in the room still left the young marine in the corner alone. Jarvis grinned wryly.

"Who?" he asked. "Hell, his _puppy_, I guess. Met 'er at the Pentagon last year."

Cassidy snorted. He was sure the way Colonel Shepard treated his daughter was vastly different from the way he treated his soldiers. Hell—Shepard did seem like the kind of man who was uncompromising in the field and totally whipped by that ass-kissing little princess of his at home. The Corporal crumpled his cup and chucked it into a trashcan. He took the file and held it up.

"Well, all bark or not, he's gonna bite when he gets an eyeful of this," he growled. "NCIS-Army CID report on the embezzlement going on leads back to his boys at the Pentagon."

Jarvis winced and whistled.

_"Damn_ glad that's not my job," he said gleefully. He inclined his head smugly—he knew the Colonel on a friendly basis; they'd done Marine boot camp together before Shepard bailed and went Army instead. "You'll get twice as much shit from 'im; he just shelled out a hell of a chunk of his bank account for that girl's car."

Cassidy groaned—it was no secret from his army colleagues that the Colonel was in a growly, hell of a mood because of a promise he'd made to his teenage daughter that ended up biting him in his frugal ass.

"Serves 'im right, makin' deals with women," Jarvis chuckled.

Cassidy swore under his breath, and then he seemed to take notice of the hacky sack being kicked around aimlessly. He kicked off the wall he was leaning on and jerked his chin.

"Who's the grunt?" he asked.

Gunny Jarvis glanced over with a practiced lack of interest.

"That's Gibbs," he said flippantly. "He doesn't have a woman, so he spends his leave days convincin' other kids to sell their souls to us."

The young Marine—Gibbs—ignored the smart ass jibe from his superior officer and snatched the hacky sack from the air, throwing it up and catching it in his hand. He turned and fixed a mild sort of glare on Cassidy. He had a sullen, stern look to him, and calculating blue eyes—the Corporal considered him for a minute and then grinned, and turned back to Jarvis.

"You mind if I borrow him?"

"For what?" asked Jarvis blandly. "Kid's already been hazed."

"Yeah, but no hazing beats taking bad news to The Hound," Cassidy pointed out smugly.

Jarvis considered it for a minute, and then grinned, swiveling in his chair and snapping at Gibbs authoritatively.

"Lance Corporal," he barked.

The young man bolted to his feet, tucking his hacky sack into his pocket and eyeing Jarvis sternly and obediently. Jarvis jerked his thumb at Cassidy, gesturing to the file in his hands.

"Your new assignment is to stop being a pain in my ass and take that file to the Pentagon—"

"Naw, Colonel's at home today."

"—to Georgetown," Jarvis corrected smoothly. He cracked another annoying little smile and narrowed his eyes. "You make it out alive, I'll toss you a challenge coin."

Gibbs nodded and stepped forward, his eyes on Cassidy. He waited for further instruction, and Cassidy surveyed him curtly, discerning if he could trust the kid or not. He finally gave a short nod and thrust the file out, tapping on it.

"Hand-deliver this gem to Colonel Shepard," he ordered abruptly. "That's Army Colonel Jasper Shepard, at his brownstone in Georgetown." Cassidy grabbed a pen off the desk and scrawled the address on the outside of the manila file. He handed it off to Gibbs. "Think you can find it?"

"Yes, sir," Gibbs answered firmly.

"Gibbs was top of his class when we threw 'em out in the woods to navigate home," Jarvis drawled. "Likes to remind us of it, too."

Gibbs' face didn't move, but there was an arrogant sort of glint in his eyes. Cassidy glared at him, and then let it go—The Hound would probably take care of that, once he realized what the boy was delivering. There was nothing else to be said, and Gibbs gave a curt nod and slipped past Cassidy, swiping his cover from a hook and fitting on his head as he left the recruitment office and started down the street. The door closed behind him, and the bell jingled obnoxiously.

Cassidy picked up the paper airplane on the floor. Jarvis leaned back and rubbed his jaw, snorting.

"How old's Jenny Shepard these days?" he asked wryly, well aware she was off school for Summer holidays, and probably hanging around her house.

Cassidy shrugged.

"Eh, maybe sixteen, 'bout," he muttered. He paused, holding the paper airplane, and glared at Jarvis. "Aw, hell, Brock, don't play cupid with my boss's daughter and your damn Marines. He'll blow a gasket."

Jarvis waved his hand.

"That leatherneck's got to get a girl or he's gonna make Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps at twenty-five."

Cassidy chucked the paper airplane at him.

It soared.

* * *

He didn't mind the walk to Georgetown from the Foggy Bottom metro; he had nothing to do and time to kill. He took the narrow, historic cobblestone streets past the swanky shops and found his way to the maze of elegant old brownstones spanning out from the university. The Colonel's was easy to find—it was on a quieter, older street, and bragged of more space between it and its neighbors.

There was a glossy black truck parked on the street outside the house, and in a pebbled, stunted driveway, there sat what looked like a brand new, shockingly red Mustang convertible. Gibbs raised his eyebrows and whistled quietly to himself, crossing the street slowly. He glanced around the mellow neighborhood—there was a dog barking lazily in a backyard, behind a fence—and approached the Mustang, his eyes glued to the sheer beauty of it.

It reminded him of the old Dodge Challenger he'd been restoring back at home, except this baby was fresh from the manufacturer and screaming to be broken in. He prowled around the side of it, his eyes roaming hungrily over the body—it was spotless, sparkling like it had just been expertly washed and waxed, and he realized this must be the car Jarvis mentioned the Colonel breaking his bank on—for some woman?

_Hell of a woman she must be_, Gibbs thought.

He tucked the file under his arm and bent forward, eyeing his reflection in the paint job. He reached out gingerly, his fingers itching—

"Hey!"

A sharp shout stopped him, just as his palm was lingering over the shiny red finish.

"I just waxed that. I am not above using the armed forces database to identify you using any and all fingerprints you leave."

He looked up, and then executed a smooth move to look as if he'd merely been examining the car.

The voice belonged to a young redhead in denim Daisy Dukes and an unevenly buttoned flannel shirt that obscured an orange faded bikini top. She stood at the hood of the Mustang with a hand on her hip, one long, tan leg extended in a threatening, tense pose. There was a dirty white rag hanging from one of her belt loops.

He straightened up immediately. He pointed at the car.

"You missed a spot."

She approached him and whipped the rag from her hip, twisting it into a tight rat-tail and snapping it coolly at his hand, deliberately missing him—just as a warning.

"I did not," she said simply, without affording the car even the slightest glance.

He lifted his brows.

"The armed forces database is for identifying the dead," he informed her neutrally, meeting her eyes.

"Dead is what you'll be if you touch my car," she retorted without missing a beat or batting a thick eyelash.

He grinned in spite of himself, and she cocked an eyebrow. Her eyes were green, her lips a slightly sunburnt, chapped red, and her legs were long—he noticed, because his eyes were wandering in a not-so-subtle way. The bikini top peaking out of her shirt was a garish orange that clashed violently with her hair.

She dipped her head forward, catching his eye.

"You see something you like, Marine?" she challenged quietly.

He tilted his head and looked back at her mildly.

"I haven't decided yet," he drawled, turning on a little charm—she smirked, and he tapped the file under his arm, transferring it to his hand. "Colonel Jasper Shepard here?"

She nodded slowly and jerked her thumb at the house.

"Study at the end of the hall. You'll run into a cloud of Cuban cigar smoke," she instructed, and turned to survey the car. In an instant, she removed herself from the conversation, an air of dismissiveness surrounding her.

He nodded, eyeing the house for a minute. He started towards it, and then turned around, walking backwards to the porch.

"Great body," he said, and flicked his cover up with a respectful wink when she turned to look at him sharply. He lifted his chin and pointed. "The car," he clarified smugly, and pivoted on his heel, turning his back to her and strolling into the brownstone.

* * *

Colonel Jasper Shepard—the infamous _Hound—_was bent over several documents with bold, black redactions puncturing them, and the promised cloud of cigar smoke was engulfing his head. From what Gibbs could see of his inclined head, he was a big man with broad shoulders, slowly greying hair, and a sharp, square jawline that seemed permanently set in a stern growl.

He grunted when he heard the noise in the doorway and lifted his hand, waving it.

"What?" he barked.

Gibbs slapped the file against the doorway.

"Got a file for you, sir."

The Colonel looked up and squinted roughly at the kid in his study. He narrowed his eyes.

"You're a goddamn leatherneck," he stated harshly.

Gibbs nodded, confirming the obvious.

"What the hell are you doin' in my house?"

Gibbs stepped forward.

"NCIS-Army CID report for you, sir," he said, hardly rattled by the Colonel's rough attitude. He'd had worse in boot camp—much worse. He was damn sure the Colonel had, too. "Ran 'em to you as a favor to Corporal Cassidy."

The Colonel grunted hoarsely and bit down on his cigar, his jaw tightening.

"Cassidy, that old candy ass," he growled shortly. "Must be bad news," he muttered, and held his hand out, demanding the file.

Gibbs stepped forward and dropped it steadily into his hand, stepping back and sweeping his cover off of his head abruptly. He watched the Colonel open it and started to glare through it swiftly. Shepard swore callously, and then slammed the file shut and chucked it into a pile on his desk.

"Those sailor fucks at NCIS can't handle police work if it bites 'em in the balls…" he started to himself, throwing out another random bout of swear words for good measure.

He yanked his cigar from his mouth and leaned back, glaring narrowly at Gibbs for a moment as if he were trying to figure out how to shoot the messenger without getting blood on the carpet. He grunted angrily, his lip curling, and Gibbs noticed that for all the rough and ready fight in the lines of his face, he had the same deep green eyes as the redhead in the driveway.

"You got somethin' else for me, Marine?" he barked sarcastically, implicitly asking why the hell Gibbs was still taking up space in his study.

Gibbs gave him a respectful inclination of the head and turned about face on his heel to go. He made it to the doorway before the reckless, stubborn part of his nature got the best of him and turned around, bracing his elbow against the doorway. He rubbed his jaw roughly.

"Sir," he said confidently. "You mind if I ask your daughter for a date?"

The Colonel stared at him, his mouth stern. Gibbs couldn't read his face, and for a split, silent moment, he thought he might have made a terrible, irreparable mistake—he saw his military career and even his life flashing before his eyes—and then Shepard just grunted dismissively and leaned forward, bending back over his papers.

He growled something under his breath about _every goddamn enlisted prick that drops something off here trying to run off with her _and popped his cigar back in his mouth irreverently.

"You'n ask 'er whatever you damn please," he muttered. "She'll stop waxin' the goddamn Mustang long enough to shoot you down."

Gibbs grinned.

"Hell, sir, guess it's a good thing I got a bulletproof vest," he retorted smugly.

The Colonel looked up sharply, and his lip curled—Gibbs was pretty sure he'd get that challenge coin when he reported back to Jarvis that he'd made the old hound laugh.

* * *

She was sitting on the hood of the car, arms stretched up over her head as she tied up her thick, wavy red hair. Her shirt rose up and bared a generous strip of midriff, and his eyes followed the bend of her legs over the red car as he strolled down the sidewalk. A full-grown, energetic German Shepherd came bounding over to him, wagging its tail and barking madly. She shot the dog a look, glanced at Gibbs, and gave no command for the animal to back off. It didn't matter—Gibbs wasn't afraid of him; He rubbed the dog's ears and back and let him sniff around his feet.

There was a torn paperback book on the car hood next to the redhead. He stopped, reached for it—and received a sharp, quick slap to the hand. He stole a look at the title—it was an annotated copy of Shakespeare's _Macbeth_—and then smirked, glancing back up at her slowly. The dog stood on his hind legs, and placed his front paws on her knees, brilliantly avoiding scratching the car. She finished tying up her hair and leaned forward to scratch his ears, her sharp eyes on the Marine standing in front of her.

He jerked his head at the house casually.

"Your old man said I could take you out," he said easily.

She pursed her lips.

"And with my dowry, did he include the proper amount of goats and milking cows?"

Gibbs cocked an eyebrow, amused. She narrowed her eyes, and the corners of her mouth turned up.

"In this century, you ask the daughter for the date, not the father." Her eyes ran over the top of his uniform, resting on his nametag. "_Gibbs_," she pronounced crisply, making it sound as if every single letter was its own syllable.

He wasn't so much embarrassed as drawn in by the curt attitude she gave him. He considered her for a minute, still smirking, and stepped forward—he ran his hand over the dog in a calculated move; the German didn't growl at him; he wagged his tail contently, and Gibbs made sure his hands stumbled into hers while he pet the dog. She bit her tongue and tilted her head—she highly doubted her father had told this Marine he could take her out; it was more likely that he assumed she'd do what she always did—say no and go back to whatever she was doing.

But—this one was kind of cute.

He pushed her dog's ears up into a cute, perky position.

"You want to let me take you out?" he asked.

She pursed her lips and sighed, pretending to look over him critically. Her eyes fell back on his nametag, and she then looked to the dog for consultation—and when she finally looked back up at him, she swept her tongue along her lower lip flippantly and shrugged her shoulders.

"I haven't decided yet," she answered coolly, flicking his earlier words back in his face.

He looked taken aback—and then, when he realized what had just happened, he grinned.

"Tell me your name," he drawled persuasively.

She pretended to absently study the rank insignia on his uniform, and then cut her eyes at him through her lashes.

"Jenny," she said finally, arching a brow. "Shepard."

He darted forward and snatched her beaten up Shakespeare book from the hood of the car, flipping it in his hand and holding it away from her. She looked at him patiently, cocking her head thoughtfully, and he flicked through the pages.

"You want to finish your book," he paused for effect, "Jenny?" he tried out her name, and he liked how it felt on his lips. He grinned roguishly. "I'll give it back to you after dinner."

She parted her lips.

"By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes," she quoted the masterpiece lazily, pretending to be torn in her decision. She flashed him a winning smile and bat her eyelashes. "Tell you what, Marine. You run off to wherever Marines play with that book, and if I run into you again before I need to buy a new copy, I'll know dinner with you is fate."

He considered it, fathomless blue eyes on hers. Her lashes fluttered, and he flipped the book in the air again, catching it, and shoving it into the back of his pants, using his belt as a pocket for it.

He adjusted his cover on his head, tipped it to her, and sidestepped the dog, accepting her terms with a sort of anticipatory sense of _rightness_ in his veins. She turned on the hood and yelled to him as he was leaving.

"Lance Corporal!" she shouted, impressing him when she showed she'd correctly identified his insignia. She shielded her eyes from the shining sun. "You just _Gibbs_?" she asked, requesting his name.

He grinned, and in a swift movement, yanked his dog tags from his collar and broke one off. He tossed it to her in a high arc and she threw her hand up—and caught it. He smirked, turned, and swept his hand across her car's flank in a daring move, disappearing down the street with a smug spring in his step.

She shook her head, biting her lower lip, and turned the cool metal over in her hand, eyes running over the lettering—she laughed out loud.

_Gibbs, Leroy Jethro._

* * *

_prologue i_  
_june_  
_2007_

* * *

_._


	2. Prologue II

.

* * *

_prologue ii_  
_july_  
_2007_

_'when birnam wood comes to dunsinane'_

* * *

His daughter was standing in the study doorway, leaning against the frame and slinging a small blue wristlet around in circles. He glared at the blur of colour as it swung around and around her finger, and listened to the jingling of her car keys. He had a specific hatred for those car keys not because of the annoying way she was jingling them, but because of how much he had spent on the vehicle they belonged to.

Colonel Jasper Shepard grunted at her and she smiled sweetly, flattening a piece of bubblegum between her teeth. He flattened his palms on the papers in front of him and narrowed his eyes.

"This some kind of trick, Jennifer?" he demanded.

She sighed, lifting her eyes to the ceiling.

"I simply asked if you had a curfew for me."

She had no idea why the perfectly logical question seemed to have completely ruined her father's evening, except perhaps because—

"I don't think you've ever stayed out past ten o'clock, how the hell am I supposed to know what a decent curfew is?" Shepard growled grumpily. He figured he should count his blessings that he'd never had to pick her up from a police station or go storming around the city looking for her at two a.m., but she really threw him for a loop asking for a curfew.

Jenny popped her gum and pulled it under her tongue, shrugging her shoulders and swinging her keys again.

"I don't want you to suddenly realize I'm gone at one in the morning and send the Army after me," she pointed out.

"What are you going to be doing until one in the morning, young lady?" he demanded, raising his voice. His face flushed, and she rolled her eyes, laughing a little.

"Nothing, if you give me a midnight curfew," she teased.

He groaned and rubbed his jaw roughly, trying to decide what was good—she was seventeen, and she was smart and well behaved. He frowned, and shot her a look. She blinked innocently, and cocked an eyebrow.

"What time do your colleagues' daughters have to be home?" she prompted, attempting to help.

He gave an annoyed grunt.

"Their mothers deal with that," he said bluntly. He squinted at her. "What about your friends?"

She shrugged.

"Holly's parents give her a midnight curfew, and then fall asleep and she sneaks in whenever she wants. Nina doesn't leave her house unless her Internet is down," she joked. "And then her curfew is like nine because her parents are Communists."

The Colonel rolled his eyes. He frowned—he certainly didn't want Jenny running as wild as Holly Daniels. He leaned back and threw his hands up.

"Where're you goin' again?"

"The celebrations on the West Lawn," she answered placidly. "Concerts, fireworks," she twirled her wristlet some more. She raised her brows and held up her hand, letting keys and wristlet dangle. "Here, Daddy, I'll just be home by the time fireworks are over, okay?"

"What time is that?"

"I think midnight," she said. "Allow half an hour travel time."

He glared at her suspiciously. He rubbed his jaw again and then nodded curtly.

"Midnight," he agreed. He studied her. "Who's goin' with you?"

"Holly and Mark," she answered, naming her best friend and Holly's boyfriend. She held up her wristlet and tapped it. "I've got my cell on me."

"Will there be drinking or boys?" growled Shepard sternly.

She blinked.

"I highly doubt the entirety of D.C. will be sober and female," she retorted.

"Don't be a smart ass," he reprimanded sharply. He glared at her intently, and she just gave him a look—which he understood immediately; she was silently right: when had he ever had a problem with his daughter and boys _or_ alcohol?

He braced his hand on his chair and tapped his chin. She'd been out at the parade all day, but she'd come home for dinner with him, and then taken him by surprise by announcing she was going to go out at nine in the evening instead of reading on the study floor in her pajamas.

He glanced at her outfit and gave a disapproving scowl.

"Where are the rest of those shorts?"

She ignored the comment, but held up her hand.

"Don't fret, Colonel, I've got my chastity belt," she said dramatically, showing him the thick, forest green rubber bracelet she wore with the U.S. Army insignia plastered all over it.

He rubbed his jaw again and nodded once to himself, and then once for effect.

"Midnight," he said. "Don't do anything stupid," he growled at her.

She smiled and pushed off the wall, turning on her heels. He watched her start towards the door and stopped her with a yell.

"Jenny," he barked.

She looked over her shoulder patiently. He gave her a pointed, fatherly look, just an added reminder that he expected her to carry herself like the daughter of an Army Colonel and come home safe and sound. She smiled, and gave him a small, gallant salute.

He was still a little annoyed by the length of her shorts when she slammed the front door.

* * *

She swung herself into the driver's seat of the car and then tapped her sunglasses from her head onto her nose. She turned her head and met her best friend's eyes.

"Midnight," she said.

Holly clapped her hands and gave a thumb up, kicking her feet. Her boyfriend sat up and put his hands on the back of the passenger seat, playing with her beachy, dirty blonde hair. He smiled an all-American, jock smile and raised his eyebrows over dark, designer sunglasses.

"Ain't that like three hours past your bedtime, Jenny?" he mocked.

She started the car and reached back to slap him in the back of the head.

"I don't go to bed early, that's Nina," she growled. "I just don't go out."

Holly laughed.

"I'm starting to rub off on her, you know," she bragged, giggling. She shifted in her seat, pulling on a seatbelt and wiggling her eyebrows at her boyfriend. "Next thing you know, Miss Daddy's Girl will be breaking curfew."

Jenny rolled her eyes and backed out of the driveway easily, checking all around her. Georgetown's elegant streets weren't crowded—they wouldn't face clogged traffic until they got past Foggy Bottom and into the city. She popped a bubble with her gum and threw her wristlet and cell phone to Holly.

"Double check Nina, make sure she doesn't want to go," she ordered, quietly wishing her other best friend was here to mellow out some of the wildness Holly and Mark brought to any situation.

Holly picked up the cell phone, but waved her hand carelessly.

"It's too late. The Czar won't let her out," she snorted, texting the number anyway.

Jenny grinned, well aware that Nina Alexander's strict, Russian parents were unwilling to let her out of their house past eight o'clock, much less loose on the streets on such a decadent American holiday.

She executed the drive to the National Mall area expertly, avoiding all kinds of partiers and tourists along the way. Holly abandoned the phone and swiveled, carrying on a conversation with Mark over the noise of wind rushing through the convertible.

"Jenny hasn't finished her summer reading yet," she said loudly.

Mark snorted in disbelief.

"Yeah, see? Told you I'm having a great effect on her," Holly snickered breezily. "She let her dog eat her copy of _The Awakening_ because it sucked and she claims some Marine stole _Macbeth_."

Mark leaned forward again.

"Hey," snapped Jenny. "Put your seatbelt on, quarterback," she ordered, glaring at him sharply in the rearview mirror. He rolled his eyes, but obeyed when Holly nodded at him firmly, and then he scowled good-naturedly and jerked his chin arrogantly at Jenny.

"It's the car turning her bad, not you," he told Holly, eliciting a giggle from her. She checked Jenny's phone.

"Nah, Nina's out," she informed her with a shrug. She pushed her hand through her hair and wrinkled her nose, looking around. "Hey, park over there—it's close to a cotton candy vendor," she suggested, spotting an unbelievably good spot with a sharp eye.

Jenny whipped over with considerable control and talent and paralleled parked the red Mustang, smiling to herself when she drew quite a few eager stares from some of the men in the vicinity—she loved her car; she was proud of it. She was eight years old when the Colonel told her that whatever money she brought him when she was ready to buy a car, he'd match, and when she was seventeen, she'd slid him an envelope with ten thousand dollars and a finance plan in it and he had nearly had a heart attack.

She slammed the door, locked it, and leaned against the car, peering around in her black aviators at the crowds. She raised her eyebrows and smiled—this was D.C.'s crowning glory, the Fourth of July celebrations. The mood was infectious, and she was pretty sure she loved it more every year.

Holly hopped up on Mark's back and looked around, holding her hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun.

"What first?" she asked. "Cotton candy?" she suggested immediately, pointing. She grinned a sparkling, head-cheerleader grin and dug her heels into Mark's sides. "If they don't have the blue kind, I'm writing Congress."

Jenny laughed and pulled a tube of lipstick out of her pocket, turning and leaning down to apply it slightly using a mirror.

"I'm not hungry," she said, rubbing her lips with her pinky gently. "I'm going to get coffee—meet you over by the Jefferson?" she asked, knowing full well that Holly was going to demand a hot dog after cotton candy, and probably drag Mark to buy her some festive souvenirs, as well.

Besides—she planned on dipping into her favorite little coffee shop, and that was a walk away.

Mark gave a sign that he agreed with the plan, and Holly slapped his shoulders eagerly.

"Yeah, yeah, get your coffee, Jen," she said, rolling her eyes. "It's over a hundred degrees, but make sure you get your soy-whatever!"

Jenny stuck out her tongue at her and tucked her lipstick into her back pocket, shoving her wristlet in the pocket with it. She dodged a couple tourists on rented bicycles and strolled across the street to head down a shortcut for her coffee shop—it was down by the Navy Memorial and across from the Library of Congress, so she'd need to book it to the Jefferson Memorial after.

Once in the cool coffee joint, she greeted the pierced and tattooed barista warmly and ordered her usual, waiting in a corner by the window. It was when she was over at the condiments counter, sprinkling a dash of sugar in the black brew, that she realized there were a couple of young devil dogs showing off with a football and hacky sacks near the fountains.

And when she squinted for a closer look, she recognized one of them with a smirk.

* * *

Gibbs had just chucked the football at the guy across from him when one of his fellow Marines jogged up to him and grabbed his shoulder, jerking his head to the side and lowering his voice.

"You got any crazy exes after you?" Leon Vance growled. Gibbs shook him off, shaking his head, and gave him a look. Vance jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "That little redhead's had her eye on you for a minute," he warned, arching his brows.

Gibbs whipped around, searching the area Vance had indicated—and there was Colonel Shepard's daughter, leaning against the carved walls of the memorial with a cup of coffee in her hand and lips expectantly pursed. He grinned and rubbed the back of his neck, waving off the next pass of the football and jogging away from the guys. He strode over—strutted—and noticed he got an annoyed look from the group of tiny, giggling girls who had been watching them throw for about half an hour.

She didn't move even when he stopped in front of her, except to take a long, slow sip of coffee.

He flicked up his cover up a little and nodded to her politely, flashing her a charming grin.

"Miss Shepard," he drawled.

Only then did she lift her hand and push her sunglasses up. They knocked into her headband and her red hair curled around her face. She compressed light pink lips—they weren't so chapped and sunburnt anymore, but smooth and made-up—and gave him a prim once-over with her green eyes.

"Lance Corporal," she greeted neutrally. She cocked an eyebrow. "I believe you have something that belongs to me."

He looked smug. He looked around her, feigning interest.

"Dinner," he answered slowly, and then made a show of prowling around and checking behind her. "Where're my goats?"

She tilted her head back and laughed. She lifted her coffee cup and chewed on the edge of it.

_"Macbeth,"_ she prompted.

"No," he corrected, shaking his head. "Deal was, you get the book after dinner."

She studied him. She smirked.

"Frozen yogurt," she countered, bartering. He looked about to protest, but she held up a finger. "And fireworks," she added, sweetening the offer.

"That's dessert," Gibbs pointed out.

She nodded her head, and handed him her coffee, reaching for her wristlet and slipping the dog tag he'd thrown at her out of it. She made a show of looking at it.

"Yes," she agreed, mouthing his name. "Leroy Jethro; it's dessert," she repeated. She looked up through her lashes, and smiled at him. "I don't need my book back—yet."

He handed the coffee cup back to her when she reached for it, and her fingers brushed his. She raised her eyebrows, and he smirked—he guessed that meant he'd still have to find a way to get her to dinner.

* * *

She didn't feel bad for abandoning Holly and Mark—they had probably found a shady bush somewhere to take half their clothing off, and she was content in a grassy spot on the West Lawn, listening to the Tchaikovsky medley that signaled the start of Fireworks.

Her coffee was cold and nearly empty on the grass next to her ankle, and she was scraping the last remains of tart frozen yogurt from a plastic container. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, her sunglasses were perched on her head, and there was a Lance Corporal stretched out on his back next to her, one knee pointing towards the dark sky, eyes fixed on her spoon.

She grinned at him, for once feeling a little nervous, and he sat forward, propping himself up on his elbows. She tilted her head and chewed on the spoon.

"You stationed at the barracks or Quantico?" she asked.

"Barracks," he retorted gruffly—he had a gruff voice, and she liked it. She nodded—she'd had a few classmates who ended up at the barracks after they'd graduated.

She set aside her frozen yogurt with her coffee and shifted, laying out on her stomach next to him and placing her chin on her hand. She narrowed her eyes intently and tried to think of something to say—she wasn't particularly talkative; she hated small talk, and he was mostly a stranger to her.

He turned his head towards her and she didn't miss how his eyes went straight to her lips—and then her chest. She almost blushed, because she wasn't terribly familiar with that kind of unabashed appreciation.

"The Colonel said you'd shoot me down if I asked you out," he remarked bluntly.

She laughed, crinkling her nose.

"He says that because I've never brought a guy home," she answered honestly.

"He really as much of a bastard as they say?"

Jenny tilted her head, and puckered her lips.

"Oh, he's much worse," she whispered dramatically.

Gibbs leaned forward, and she leaned back a little, startled. His blue eyes flickered mischievously.

"Guess I shouldn't kiss his daughter, then," he muttered.

She bit her lower lip and moved her feet, rubbing the soles of her shoes against each other. She waited—anticipating him to move forward, or fireworks to start popping, or something, but he just looked at her—smirking—and then he rolled onto his stomach, his shoulder shoving into hers playfully, and reached into his back pocket, rummaging around in the deep ACUs.

He pulled out a bent, beaten, frayed, annotated copy of _Macbeth_—and she blinked, and then laughed hoarsely.

"You have it?" she asked, snorting. "You've been carrying it-?"

He nudged her with his knee, giving her a look.

"You got my dog tag in your wallet," he growled pointedly. He flipped through the pages of the book. He dropped it in the grass and put his finger on it. "Shakespeare's a talkative guy," he drawled.

"You read it?"

"Read all your little comments, too," he mocked, and she bit her lip, trying to snatch the book. He blocked her and grabbed her hand; she fell onto her chest in the grass, giggling and thwarted. He gave her a smug look, turning towards her, and she shifted onto her side and arched an eyebrow.

"I said if I ran into you again before I needed a new one—"

"—yeah, that dinner with me was fate," he remembered, glaring at her. "I haven't taken you to dinner yet," he reminded her.

She nodded, reaching out with her hand to push the coffee cup and frozen yogurt cups away some. The evening sky flickered, and the Tchaikovsky music went on—fireworks, any minute now.

"Like I said," she told him quietly. "It's only the beginning of July. I don't need it back yet." She smirked, biting her lip wryly. "You can take me out when Birnam wood comes to Dunsinane."

She quoted the Scottish play, and he gave her a look she couldn't identify; but she _liked_ it.

He leaned forward—and this time, he did kiss her: confidently, and completely differently than she'd ever been kissed before—because he had obviously kissed a lot more than she ever had. She was hesitant and he was not—he leaned into it, and pulled her a little closer, one of his feet hooking over her ankles. She was—so taken aback that she was kissing a Marine on the bank of the Jefferson Monument that she took a minute to respond, and then she put her hand on the back of his neck, and tangled her fingers in the chain binding his dog tags.

He slung his arm over her waist and pressed it into her lower back—and then she couldn't help but think how absurd this seemed, and how things like this really didn't happen to her, so she giggled, and lowered her head—and she was pretty sure that ruined it.

He smirked, amused, and nudged her jaw with his nose, catching her eye. She pulled away some, and sat forward, biting her lower lip. She pulled the copy of _Macbeth_ towards her and pulled her lipstick from her pocket, opening it and rolling up the stick promisingly.

* * *

She was tying her hair up in the front seat of her car when Holly hopped in next to her and Mark vaulted over the back into the backseat. Holly punched her in the arm and gave her a deathly glare.

"Where the hell did you go to get Coffee? Colombia?" she demanded, gnashing her teeth. "Mark and I thought you were murdered."

Jenny snorted and looked at the disarray of Holly's outfit—and noticed her friend was missing a certain pair of bra straps that usually poked out from beneath her white tank top. She didn't answer—she finished wrapping her hair, and turned the keys in the ignition.

"It's twelve fifteen," she remarked blandly.

"Seriously, Jenny, where were you?"

The redhead concentrated on getting out of the parking spot and bit the inside of her lip to keep from smirking. She shrugged her shoulders in a nonchalant way and put the car into drive.

"I ran into that Marine who stole my book," she admitted coolly.

Holly bolted into a sitting position.

"Oh? The one with the stupid name?" she asked eagerly. She looked around the floorboards. "Where's the book? Wait—when's the date?"

Jenny tilted her head back and forth.

"I—let him keep the book."

Holly frowned.

"You—why?" she whined. "Jen, you have to date sometime, for Christ's sake."

Jenny cocked an eyebrow and pulled sharply down an open street, avoiding traffic expertly. She glanced over at Holly and parted her lips slyly.

"I wrote my number on the inside cover," she admitted.

Holly gave a shriek of glee—and then grabbed her friend's shoulder, squeezing tightly.

"Look at me," she demanded.

"I'm driving—"

"Jennifer Shepard you _look_ at me—_Mark_," bellowed Holly, whirling around and grabbing him by the collar. She yanked him forward and gave him a smug look, jerking her head at her best friend. "Her lipstick's smeared!"

* * *

Gibbs lay on his back in his bunk, the book open and propped up against his knee. He flipped through the pages, keeping his thumb firmly on the one that had her number written on it in lipstick—and he grinned to himself.

There was a thud as Vance chucked a hacky sack repeatedly at the ceiling. He missed catching it, and then leaned over, glaring down at Gibbs.

"You really think you're gonna run into that chick again?" he asked skeptically, snorting at his buddy's one-track mind.

Gibbs shot him a wry look and then bent the play open to the significant page, showing off the pink lipstick number. Vance whistled, surprised that a long shot had worked out, and shook his head.

"Damn," he swore. "It was that little redhead, then? Hell, shoulda known. Fornell told me you were only into them fiery types." Vance grinned roguishly and gestured for the hacky sack.

Gibbs swiped it off the floor and tossed him at it; Vance caught it easily.

"What's that say's 'er name?" he asked.

"Jen," Gibbs grunted, still liking the way it sounded. "Jenny Shepard," he mulled over her name to himself, and snorted. "Colonel's daughter."

Vance leapt off the bunk above Gibbs, about to swing into his own across the hall. He gave his friend a wary look and raised his dark eyebrows.

"Aw, _naw_, Gibbs you mean Jasper Shepard? She's the _Army_ Colonel's daughter?"

Gibbs went back to flicking absently through the book, reading her handwritten notes. He smirked, and nodded his head.

"Bro, I hope you didn't touch her," Vance warned seriously, swinging up into his bunk. "She's like sixteen."

Gibbs slammed the book shut, and stared at him, suddenly certain he really _shouldn't_ have been kissing the Jasper Shepard's very _young_ daughter.

* * *

_prologue ii_  
_july_  
_2007_

* * *

.


	3. Macbeth I

_A/N: and so it begins, perhaps the riskiest AU that i've ever written. not only is it AU in that Jenny is placed in high school and Gibbs is young (though already in the Marines*), i also chose to place it in the current day instead of the late seventies/early eighties, in order to cut down on anachronisms. _

_this is going to be inevitably different than most of my work, frankly. i had to characterize Jasper Shepard completely from scratch, as the show gives us nothing on him. i've sprinkled well-known and beloved NCIS characters all throughout, but because this is primarily an experiment in JIBBS and not an "NCIS in high school!"  
fic, they aren't congruent to one another, they're peripheral. _

_let's roll !_

* * *

_Chapter One_

_Macbeth I_

* * *

Jennifer Shepard, seventeen years old with a good head on her shoulders, sat in her bedroom at the white vanity glaring mildly the reflection in her oval mirror. She wrinkled her nose slightly and lifted her chin—same green eyes, same long, wild, thick red hair, same _not_ sun-kissed pale skin, and same permanently, slightly cocked right eyebrow.

It seemed there was nothing particularly revolutionary about senior year versus junior year, except for the fact that this year she had a badass mustang convertible and—right, _oh yeah_, when the academic year was over, she'd graduate. That, she figured, was a bit of a glaring difference, but she wasn't fazed by the prospect.

She snorted quietly to herself and reached for a few bobby pins, sweeping her too-long bangs out of her eyes and pinning them back. She pulled her hair half-up, holding it all loosely back in black bobbies, and then twisted it rapidly in a braid and pulled it over her shoulder. Pleased with the look, she shoved her stool back and grabbed her things from the bed, flicking off her bedroom light as she made her way down the elegant front stairs and into the kitchen.

She knew—she just _knew_—Holly was going to nag her for her less-than-chic first day of school outfit, but Jenny preferred to look fabulous on the second day, because it tended to look less like she'd tried too hard. For the first day she chose skinny jeans and a decent sleeveless blouse, and added to that the usual Army bracelet she wore, gold stud earrings, and flat sandals.

She entered the kitchen, and immediately her faithful German Shepherd bounded up to her, wagging his tail and whining expectantly. She obliged him by crouching and hugging him tightly, letting him kiss her face. He usually slept in her bedroom, but he'd been restless last night and she'd kicked him out for the Colonel to deal with.

Speaking of the Colonel—

Jasper Shepard snatched his newspaper down from his face and eyed his daughter sagely, watching her start her morning routine by loving on the dog. He abandoned the political opinion he was reading on page three and reached for his steaming coffee, nodding at her as she rose up. Her dog followed her as she went to get her own mug of coffee and a pop tart from the cabinet.

"Morning, Daddy," Jenny greeted blithely.

"How's it feel bein' a senior?" he asked her gruffly.

She yawned facetiously and turned around with her hot mug balanced delicately in one hand, threatening to scald her skin. She sat down primly and broke the pop tart in two, giving him an innocent look.

"I don't know, you tell me, old man."

He narrowed his eyes at her and growled something about not being near old enough to retire, and then picked up his newspaper and hid his face behind it again. Jenny giggled under her breath and broke off a crust of the pop tart. She chucked it to the dog with an air of nonchalance.

He caught it and she crinkled her nose, cooing at him.

"Don't feed that dog," growled Jasper from behind the paper. "You'll spoil him."

"Aw, he's already spoiled," Jenny crooned. She bit into the pop tart and gave her father a look through his paper knowingly. "His old master gives him Noemi's cookies after Jenny goes to bed," she whispered.

Jasper grunted, but said nothing—she knew damn well he was feeding the dog human food on the sly, and there was no use in him denying it.

Jenny dipped her pop tart into her coffee and bit off a huge chunk, shoving more in her mouth than was ladylike. She stared a hole through her father's newspaper until he put it down again and decided to engage with her. He turned to his own typical toasted, buttered strawberry pop tart and cleared his throat.

"Today is the beginning of the end of my parenting job," he said dramatically, glaring brutally at his breakfast.

Jenny widened her eyes.

"Tell us, Colonel Shepard, how does it feel not to be needed anymore by the one person in your life who doesn't take you seriously?" she asked, as if interviewing a famous movie star.

"You damn well better take me seriously, Jennifer!" he blustered, knitting his brows at her menacingly—and she laughed into her mug of coffee, because she knew he liked coming home from the Pentagon—where everyone kissed his ass and licked his boots—to a daughter who routinely reminded him he was a huge dork who couldn't work the internet.

Jasper rolled his eyes in mild annoyance and finished off his pop tart.

"You drivin' Nina to school?" he asked.

"Yeah," Jenny answered, nodding. "I offered to drop off her little brother at his middle school, too," she added, wiggling her eyebrows wryly. "I am determined to make the Czar like me."

"He might like you if you respected him more and called him Mr. Alexander."

"No," snorted Jenny, "he'd scoff at me that it's _Aleksandrov_ and ask me if my militant jingo father was still poking around Soviet business."

Jasper gave Jenny an exasperated look. He had only met Nina Alexander's mother, and he sometimes wondered if his daughter and Holly Daniels' tales about their friend's recalcitrant, apparently capitalist-hating father, were wholly true.

"I raised you to address adults by their proper titles," he growled at her. "Mr. Alexander," he admonished pointedly.

"I don't call him Czar to his _face_," Jenny laughed, rolling her eyes. "One time I asked him how he felt about _The Hunt for the Red October_," she reflected suddenly.

"Jennifer," sighed Jasper, exasperated. He shook his head and brushed off his hands, looking down critically at his uniform for crumbs. Jenny sucked down the rest of her coffee and stood up, darting around to straighten his collar and make sure all of his ribbons were pristine.

She breathed on his buttons and polished them with her hands proudly.

"You be a good boy at work today, now, Daddy," she said sweetly. "Play nice with the other men and try not to start any wars."

He managed to look stern, but allowed the coddling all the same—he didn't have a wife; someone had to check his uniform and make sure he looked appropriately manly and terrifying.

"What're your plans for today?" he demanded.

"After school I have to go straight to work," she said matter-of-factly, "and my shift at the café ends at seven, so then I'll be home, and I'll pretend I'm doing homework while I watch _30 Rock_, and then I'll actually do homework, and then I'll go to bed. Maybe."

"Try doing homework and going to bed at a decent hour," Jasper retorted.

"Or I could scrap the homework and snort a line of cocaine."

He rolled his eyes and flicked her hands away from his uniform.

"I have a meeting with Rene later this evening," he informed her gruffly. "Contracting business. I'll be later than usual."

She made a face and turned her nose up.

"Stay out late, if it means you won't bring him back here," she muttered seriously—Rene Benoit was a business colleague of her father's, a huge private arms contractor for the Department of Defense, and Jenny had decided she hated him when she turned fifteen and he started looking at her in a decidedly un-platonic way.

Jasper shrugged his shoulders.

"You and Jeanne never _chill_ together anymore," he said lamely.

"That is because I hate Jeanne," Jenny retorted loudly.

"Is this a _Mean Girls_ situation?" Jasper demanded sternly.

"I never should have made you watch that movie with me," Jenny muttered. She stood on tiptoes and pressed a chaste kiss to her father's cheek. "Daddy, high school isn't really like that unless you tilt your head, squint, and make it that way."

He put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to stand flat on her feet. He looked at her for a good, long minute, and then gave her a crooked, soft little smile.

"I could have used more time with you when you weren't so tall," he said gruffly, looking her over and shaking his head. "You're as tall as your mother now."

Her smile chilled slightly and she blinked her eyelashes crisply, tactfully refusing to acknowledge his statement about her absent mother. In fact—she ignored it all together, and gave him a sassy flip of her braided hair.

"Look out, world, Amazon Jenny is on the loose," she drawled, taking her keys from her pocket and jingling them. She grinned widely. "I have to get going if I want to get Nina and get coffee before the bell."

Jasper nodded, and cleared his throat, stepping back after a moment and letting her shuffle away and start grabbing her backpack and making sure she had everything. He watched her sharply, accepting that this was technically her last first day of school, counting all the first days he'd missed, and trying to figure out just when she'd gone from crawling on an airport floor to meet him after his first deployment—to driving a brand new red mustang through the streets of Virginia.

He cleared his throat gruffly again.

"Be all you can be, G.I. Jen," he said to her—the same thing he'd said to her, whether it was over the phone or in person, since she was five-years-old and walking into her first Kindergarten class.

She flashed a smile at him and slung her backpack over her shoulder, giving him a salute—and she retorted with the General Patton quote she'd been using as an answer since she learned it in the third grade:

"If a man does his best, what else is there?"

* * *

Jenny flashed a wry grin at Nina Alexander as the other girl swung herself gracefully over the side of the convertible and landed perfectly in the front seat. She arched her eyebrows.

"This car is the definition of the American dream," Nina purred dramatically—she hadn't ridden with Jenny yet, and she'd been itching to all summer.

"I'm delighted the Czar is finally letting you partake in my little piece of decadent consumerism," Jenny retorted, turning her head and watching as Nina's littler brother was shuttled out of the house by his mother.

"It's the Czarina's influence, really," Nina answered, before rising up in her seat and shouting in Russian at her brother to hurry up. He sped down the front steps eagerly, shoving his paper lunch bag into deep, baggy pockets, and fumbled with the door of the car to get in.

He started babbling to Nina immediately, and Jenny rolled her eyes, checked her mirrors, and waved to Nina's mother. As she backed out, she shot Ivan a look in her rearview mirror.

"English, punk," she ordered loftily, "or I'll never let you ride in my cool car again."

"I'm gonna roll up to seventh grade like a freakin' king," Ivan preened smugly, snapping on his seatbelt.

Jenny snorted, and Nina shook her head at him, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, showing up in Jenny's mustang doesn't change your status as a math whiz and a chess club nerd," she teased lightly.

"You either," he snapped back.

Nina twitched her head back and forth, wrinkling her nose primly.

"No, but when girls are nerds these days it's quirky and, like, totally cute," she trilled—Jenny didn't miss the sarcasm in her voice, and grinned.

She took off down the suburban street for the local middle school, reaching up to knock her sunglasses down over her eyes. She mediated her speed so she wasn't going fast enough to ruin her hair or Nina's, and she kept her one eye on the mirror so she could make sure Ivan was keeping his seatbelt on and his ass in the seat. He was already absorbed in a video game on a handheld, totally ignoring his sister and Jenny, and Jenny cocked her head slightly.

"Isn't a Gameboy a capitalist luxury?" she asked playfully.

Nina turned and looked at her with serious, pretty blue eyes.

"I think my parents may get divorced because Mama has been watching Bill O'Reilly in her free time."

Jenny pretended to have a heart attack while keeping one hand on the wheel.

"Have you alerted the Motherland? Have you contacted the KGB? Nina, this is serious."

"I mean, I tried to get a call in to Vlad—you know, ol' President Putin, but he's busy with all that 'making authoritarian rule look like democracy.'"

Jenny sighed dramatically.

"It's a struggle," she sympathized dramatically.

Nina giggled, and pulled down the visor to check her face in the mirror. She pulled contraband mascara and lipstick out of a pocket in her bag and unscrewed the top of the lipstick furtively.

"I'll tell Papa," Ivan threatened, eyeing her wickedly.

"You will not," Nina fired back instantly. "I know what you were doing on Misha's laptop last night."

Ivan snapped his mouth shut and sat back, his eyes wide. Jenny raised her eyebrows at him smugly, mature enough to figure out what Ivan had been stealing his older brother's computer for.

"Misha's not back at school yet?" she asked.

"No, Stanford doesn't start until way late in September," Nina answered, smacking her lips. "So, you know, if you wanted to come over and stalk him this weekend…" she trailed off, grinning, and Jenny shoved her shoulder roughly.

"I am _way_ over that little crush," she growled, pulling into the drop off circle at Ivan's middle school.

"Mmm-hmm," Nina teased, crinkling her nose.

She switched to putting on a little mascara while the car was parked—her parents only allowed make-up when she was on stage, so she snuck it on at school and wiped it off before they got home—and tousled her hair a little. Nina never liked her hair to look like she'd done anything to it; she was constantly messing it up, making it look a little knotted, and a little fuller.

"Thanks for the ride, Jenny," Ivan said, strutting up to her side of the car. He leaned in and winked at her. "Y'know, if you're over Misha, you can always have me."

Jenny put her hand gently on his face and pushed him away.

"Go to school, baby brother," she ordered with a laugh—and he ran off into the building.

"He's such a _tool_," Nina snorted, putting up her make-up as Jenny drove away from the middle school and headed towards Alexander Hamilton High School, about ten minutes away.

Jenny shrugged—she liked Nina's brothers. Ivan tried to be cool like the kids he saw on television, but he was shy and too sweet to be a real popular kind of jerk, and Misha was a handsome, brooding intellectual who was a lot like Nina—though he had an added tendency to succumb to random bouts of radical rebellion, and Nina was much more mellow. She didn't seem to resent her parents' strict rules, and operated under the thought that she'd just do what she wanted when she was out of their house. In the meantime, she was glad they fed and clothed her.

Nina searched through her bag, checking to make sure everything was neatly and obsessively in place. She raised her eyebrows.

"Is your crush on Misha last year's news because of The Marine?" she asked slyly.

Jenny glared at the street in front of her and resisted the urge to groan aloud—Holly and Nina had taken to calling Gibbs "The Marine" in a mocking, light-hearted way, and it drove her up the wall. She couldn't really blame them—Holly was simply over the moon that Jenny had expressed legitimate interest in a male, and Nina was genuinely intrigued.

"You _know_ I only had a crush on Misha because I was reading _Anna Karenina_, Neens," Jenny sighed dramatically, smiling a little as she whipped into the high school parking lot. She shrugged. "Besides; it's beneficial to like men you'll never get. There's no effort involved."

"You're such a fuckin' cynic," Nina said, punching Jenny in the shoulder.

"Says the girl who thinks dating before you can drink alcohol is preposterous!" retorted Jenny with a faux shriek of pain.

She chose a parking spot close to the front of the building—she'd wanted to arrive early so she had excellent options—and killed the engine of the car, looking up in the mirror to check her own lipstick.

"At least we have lovesick Holly _Golightly_ to balance us out," Nina said with a laugh.

Jenny grinned, patting her finger against her lower lip. She stuck it out and frowned, and Nina leaned back, running her hands through her dark hair again. She blinked and glanced at Jenny seriously.

"So—what really did happen there, J?" she asked. "Like, you were kind of hoping he would call you—"

"Well, he didn't," Jenny said tersely, shrugging bluntly. She re-adjusted her mirror and compressed her lips.

"Yeah, but does that bother you?" Nina asked.

Jenny glanced at her, unbuckling her seatbelt loudly.

"It bothers me that he stole my annotated copy of _Macbeth_ and I have AP English in four hours," she answered vaguely.

Nina cocked an eyebrow and threw her hand out.

"Why didn't he call, though?" she asked, exasperated. "I mean, he sounded like such a charmer, and he tried so hard to take you out—"

"I suspect a superior officer told him old I am," Jenny interrupted a little testily.

She shrugged and pulled herself up by the hood, swinging out of the car—this time, Nina used the door and shut it firmly. She leaned against it, and Jenny landed on her feet outside the car, nodding her head at the front of the school.

"Don't bring it up around Holly, okay?" Jenny asked, making a face. "She's overly involved about it and nothing even happened."

"She told me you kissed him."

"I never confirmed that!"

Nina giggled, slinging her bag over her body easily and shaking her head.

"Jenny—you're such a diplomat—"

* * *

The school was already buzzing with activity, and Holly struggled through a group of lost looking freshmen and met them near the lockers they'd had last year. She gave Nina an approving nod and then scoffed at Jenny, gesturing to her outfit with disappointment.

"_Senior_ year and she wears a tank top on the first day, tsk tsk," she admonished, rolling her eyes. "I guess it's better than that Texas shirt you wore for a week when you got back from Fort Hood."

"I really _liked_ Texas," Jenny retorted, ignoring Holly's criticism of her not fancy enough outfit.

Holly rolled her eyes.

"I suppose your lack of appropriate outfit can be excused since you're depressed over The Marine not calling," she said blithely, and Jenny frowned—awesome; they were already back on that.

"I am not depressed," Jenny said shortly.

Holly cocked an eyebrow.

"You know, there's nothing wrong with being upset a guy you liked blew you off," she said logically.

"Liked?" Jenny snorted. "I didn't even know the guy."

"You gave him your phone number, Jenny, you never give people your phone number," Holly pointed out eagerly, bouncing on the balls of her feet again. "What was his name again, Jedediah-?"

"I don't remember," Jenny interrupted airily.

Holly snatched her lanyard from her hands and jingled the keys until she was holding a single silver dog tag. She turned it over, ran her hand over the name and serial number engraved there, and smirked triumphantly.

"Bullshit," she said.

Flushing slightly, Jenny ripped the lanyard away from her and shoved it into her bag. She blew her hair out of her face and started rummaging for her schedule, and she felt Holly giving her a slightly patronizing, annoyed look.

"Seriously, Jenny, calm down about it, just be upset for like a sec," she said tensely.

"It's stupid to get upset over guys," Jenny snapped back. She blew her hair out of her face again. "I don't want to get into this," she decided curtly. She lifted her chin and nodded a greeting at a friend she recognized before shooting Holly a warning glare.

Holly held up her hands, popped some bubble gum, and flipped her hair back.

"Well, there's gossip already," she began, leaning in and lowering her voice. "Dr. Hampton and Miss Colter broke up, so it's going to be frosty in the foreign language hallway, Mark is acting like a little pansy because some sophomore got put as first string quarterback and," Holly paused dramatically, "I just got promoted to head cheerleader because Michelle Lee came back from her little summer in Cabo four months pregnant."

Nina's jaw fell open.

"Pregnant?" she asked. "Are you—sure?"

Holly nodded gleefully.

"Um, she's so thin you can _definitely_ tell. She turned in her pom-poms this morning," she gloated.

"Try not to revel too much in another's misfortune," Jenny warned, smirking wryly. "Who ousted Mark from his position?" she asked, wincing a little. Holly's boyfriend was one of the best football players on the team, and the possibility of getting over-shadowed by a sophomore his senior year had to smart.

Holly waved her hand.

"It's that kid Tony DiNozzo—but you know, he can't even be scouted for two more years, they're not allowed to look at him, and Mark is a killer tight end—like, he's a shoe-in for any school that looks at him, he's just being a little—hi, baby," Holly broke off abruptly as Mark approached them and spun around, rising on tiptoes to kiss his cheek innocently.

He looked annoyed and broody, and Nina arched her eyebrows at him. He gave them all a moody nod in greeting, and Jenny laughed silently—Holly was right, he looked like a big, angry toddler, and it was slightly comical. Holly gave her friends an amused eye roll and patted Mark's shoulder.

"We're going to go get him breakfast in the cafeteria and talk about being nice to sophomores," she said sweetly. "Hey—what's your first class?" she looked expectantly between Nina and Jenny.

"AP Chem," Jenny answered.

Nina nodded.

"Me too," she said.

Holly grinned.

"I'm Standard Physics," she said, winking. "See you smartasses later," she added, waving as she steered her boyfriend off down the hall.

Jenny leaned back against the lockers and rolled her eyes. Nina looked down at her watch.

"Who'd you get for Chemistry?" she asked.

"Sciuto," Jenny answered smugly.

Nina groaned and threw her head back.

"Lucky," she whined. "I got Palmer—I heard his pass rate is really high, but he's so freakin' _weird—"_

"Oh, Neens, you'll pass no matter who you have," Jenny said breezily. She pushed off from the locker. "I want to get a good seat—c'mon, let's head towards the science wing."

"I know you have AP English third, so we have that together," Nina, ever the academic, continued. "And then you have—what second? Some sort of politics?"

"No, I took Comparative last year." Jenny answered. "European History," she corrected. "AP."

"I've got Calculus BC with Holly," Nina said. "What are you taking fourth?"

"Nothing," Jenny said with a shrug. "I took the project period and I'm using it to get extra hours at work. You?"

"Macro," Nina answered mildly. Jenny glared at her—Nina had absolutely no idea how to lighten her workload; she was too focused on being academically perfect. She and Jenny were alike in that they both enjoyed school—but for Nina it was a point of personal pride; she was incredibly smart but she worked hard, whereas Jenny naturally succeeded academically and tended to rival Nina for her spot at the top of the class without trying.

The thing about Nina was—she genuinely didn't care, or resent Jenny for it; in fact, each girl thought the other deserved it. Jenny wanted it, somewhere in the back of her mind, to make her father proud, but it would probably be Nina, simply because Nina chose to take a full load senior year, and Jenny chose to back off a little. She had spent so much time with her nose to the grindstone working to get impeccable grades and to save money for that car that she wanted—and deserved—a little more free time to sow some wild oats.

At the entrance to Dr. Sciuto's expansive chemistry classroom, Nina stopped and turned to Jenny, taking her arm.

"I know you're kind of sensitive about it," she began quietly, "since you usually don't jump down Holly's throat—but, just so you know, she's right; you can totally bitch to us about how pissed you are The Marine didn't call."

Jenny laughed, lifting her eyes to the ceiling.

"For Christ's sake, I barely knew him! It was just a little flirtation—he was too old for me." She realized she gave about four different excuses, and that made her sound guilty, but she stood her ground.

Nina cocked a brow.

"How old is too old?" she ventured.

"He was a Lance Corporal," Jenny said logically. "So—he was probably, ah, twenty-four or so. Twenty-one at the earliest, if he was really good at his job."

Nina tilted her head back and forth thoughtfully. She didn't say anything, and she let go of Jenny's arm and gave a little shrug. She gave the redhead a little smirk.

"Yeah, point taken. That's an iffy difference," she agreed. "But—if you run into him again, Jenny—third time's a charm…"

Jenny shoved Nina playfully down the hall towards Palmer's classroom and ducked into her own, shoving the keys to her Mustang—dog tag and all—into her bag as she went.

* * *

Jenny successfully nabbed a seat front and center in her Chemistry classroom—but she spent more time staring at Dr. Sciuto's slightly risqué black and yellow flared skirt than actually listening to the explanation of the syllabus. She narrowed her eyes and fumed—she could kill Nina and Holly for bringing _him_ up, because she had completely convinced herself she didn't care that _he_ hadn't called.

Except—she did.

That in _itself_ was even more infuriating, because she was not accustomed to being annoyed by silly things such as that. In fact—she generally didn't spend much time thinking about men at all, and it wasn't because she scorned the idea of relationships or thought she was too good for them; she simply spent a lot of time focused on school, or work, or her friends—or her father, and in the midst of all that, the idea of attempting to ensnare a boyfriend didn't particularly seem interesting.

Time consuming, certainly.

As an army brat, she'd spent so much time moving that she preferred to make friends rather than flirt, and when they had settled fairly permanently back in Georgetown, she had been so intently working to buy her car that she'd hardly had a second to spare for the typical teenage dating scene.

Holly—wild, fairly stereotypical, vivacious Holly, thought she was insane; mostly because a healthy amount of boys had expressed interest in her, and Jenny had either ignored it, or tested the waters once and leapt right back out. Nina's head was shoved too far in test prep books for her to know boys existed—and her parents were far too strict.

In general, the way some of her peers set so much store by the whole boy thing in high school made her leery, and she preferred to remain on the outskirts—but this Marine had really sparked her interest, age difference or not, and perhaps it was because that rarely happened that she was so bothered—and, she had to face it, insecure—by his sudden disappearance.

She had given him her number, for God's sake—she _never_ gave out her number.

Hell, she'd _kissed_ him. She had cuddled up on the West Lawn on the Fourth of July and kissed him—and _that_ was out of character. It wasn't that she had never kissed a boy before—she had—but it was that she had kissed him so soon after meeting him, and actually really enjoyed it—that sort of freaked her out.

On that note, she had tossed and turned a few nights imagining him—lots of scenarios, stupid scenarios—and then she'd laughed into a pillow at herself and rolled her eyes—but the blunt truth of the matter was, she had a crush—and she'd wanted him to call her, and after all his tenacious attempts to take her out—she got silence.

That annoyed her, and made her feel ridiculous—and it was why she snapped at her friends for goading her about it—she wasn't a girl who liked to feel ridiculous. She liked to feel practical, smart, and—

"Jennifer Shepard?"

She blinked, and then she realized suddenly that Dr. Sciuto had called her name on the roll several times.

Well.

Mortified was another thing she did not like to feel.

She lifted her palm, even though Sciuto was looking right at her, and waved her fingers.

"Here," she muttered.

"You go by Jennifer?" asked Sciuto, her green eyes flashing wryly.

"Jenny," she corrected, with an apologetic smirk.

"Jenny," agreed Sciuto, marking it on her roll. "And—what were you thinking about so intently, Jenny?"

Jenny tilted her head thoughtfully, and arched an eyebrow.

"Quantum Theory," she answered, deadpan.

Sciuto smiled, and pointed her pen—complete with a fuzzy black skull fastened to the end—right between Jenny's eyes.

"Out of you, then, I expect a five on that teensy little AP exam."

* * *

Jenny was slightly out of breath to her third period advanced placement English course—and slightly-slash-basically late—because she'd dashed out of lunch early to run down the street and pick up iced coffees for herself and Nina.

Nina mouthed a thank you as Jenny slid her latte over and dropped into the seat the brunette had saved for her. Jenny waved her hand good-naturedly and then Nina leaned over, whispering in a hushed tone:

"We aren't starting analysis of Macbeth for two weeks," she hissed, arching an eyebrow. She tilted her head towards the front of the classroom. "You have time to get a new copy."

Jenny gave Nina an annoyed look—she may be pissed her copy was gone, but she knew the play back to front.

"He changed the syllabus?" she whispered back. "What are we doing first?"

Nina bit her lip and gave Jenny an apologetic look.

"No," Jenny growled softly, sensing it.

"_The Awakening_."

Jenny swore. She'd read it—but she hadn't annotated it or taken notes; she really had let her dog use it as a chew toy. Nina wrinkled her nose, shrugging her shoulders and straightening up in her seat. Jenny groaned and snatched her iced latte up aggressively, fixing a glare down on her desk.

She was so not in the mood to analyze a book about a woman who killed herself because her young lover deserted her.

It was so utterly _pathetic_.

* * *

Holly had the same project period Jenny did after their third class, and they parted ways with Nina and headed to the parking lot. Holly chattered away a mile a minute divulging a summer's worth of gossip, and Jenny listened with actual, and then feigned interest, wasting time until she had to be at work.

"Hey," Holly said suddenly, noticing Jenny check her watch. "I thought you were going to cut back on working, now that you've got the car."

Jenny shrugged.

"I kind of like it," she admitted. "I mean, I have to make payments and also pay insurance, and the idea of a having a nice little bank account cushion for pretty things in college is appealing," she added wryly.

Holly blinked.

"Why don't you just get a boyfriend?" she teased.

Jenny widened her eyes.

"These boyfriends, they buy you things?"

Holly nodded emphatically—then she dramatically sighed.

"They always kind of want stuff in return, though," she lamented.

"Blowjobs?" Jenny guessed.

"Blowjobs," Holly agreed.

"Who's getting a blowjob?" Mark asked, running his hand over the tailgate of Jenny's car as he jogged up, taking a break from fourth block football workouts. He snaked his arm around Holly's waist and pulled her close, grinning devilishly. "Me?"

"I don't know, when's the last time you bought me a hot dog?" she asked loudly.

Jenny laughed and tilted her head back, ignoring whatever suggestive thing Mark retorted with.

"I have to go," she said, jingling her keys. She winked at her friends, shaking her finger like a concerned adult. "You two whippersnappers behave yourselves."

Holly waved at her, giggling as she snatched Mark's helmet from him and placed it on her head, jumping up on his back. He carted her out of the way of Jenny's car as she got in, revved the engine, and whipped out of the parking spot.

"'Bye, MOM!" Holly cried affectionately.

Jenny flicked her sunglasses down over her eyes and waved back sweetly.

"Make good choices," she trilled obnoxiously.

* * *

She worked at a cool, laid back little café in D.C.'s Eastern Market neighborhood. _Café Marseille,_ it was called, and it was tucked a few blocks down from the Farmer's market and the crafts, and the atmosphere was relaxed. She liked her uniform—a bonus, since she was in it so much—and changed into it in the break-room since she'd come from school. It was simple—black skirt, short, black, pocketed apron, tucked in, white collared shirt, and black lace up ankle boots with white socks.

She unbraided her hair and tied it up in a loose bun—it had to be off her collar, and clocked in with her card, tucking it with her keys into one of the small pockets on her apron. She wasn't technically a waitress—the café's employees ran the counter, and re-filled drinks when needed—but they earned tips during lunch and dinner hour, when there were more options on the menu, and they did more running around to tables.

It was a slow afternoon, so she was able to lounge in a chair behind the counter and flip through a brochure for a college while she talked to the other girl working the shift.

"Are you considering applying there?" Mila asked, nodding her head at Jenny's brochure.

Jenny frowned mildly and flipped it closed, admiring the glossy, lovely front—it was an attractive, enticing pamphlet full of praise for UCLA, but she'd had a distinct distaste for California since her mom had left. She shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm looking more seriously at Southern Universities," she said vaguely.

"Duke?" Mila guessed.

Jenny wrinkled her nose.

"Emory," she said. "University of Georgia," she added. "Other than here, Fort Benning, Georgia was my favorite place Dad was ever stationed," she explained, and chewed on her bottom lip. "I'd like to go to school there."

"Oooh, when were you in Georgia?"

"When he was in officer training school," Jenny answered, setting the brochure aside. She leaned on her hand and tilted her head conversationally. "Besides here, I think we were in Georgia longest," she remembered, furrowing her brow. "He was stationed there when I was eight, after he got back from Bosnia," she reflected.

"You've lived in so many places," Mila sighed, leaning forward on her own hand. "It'll be so easy for you to leave home for school."

Jenny gave her an absurd look.

"You spent your summer in Turkey," she said with a snort.

"Yes, but I can't go to college further than two hours away," Mila groused, rolling her eyes. She plucked at her hijab and tucked a few sneaky, loose strands of thick dark hair back into it. "Overprotective parents," she muttered.

Jenny grinned.

"Right, D.C. has such awful choices—Georgetown, American—god, they _suck_," she sighed dramatically, and Mila flicked a stray coffee bean at her. Jenny palmed it, deflecting it away, and snatched up the brochure to hit her colleague with it. Mila giggled and brought her hands up to block the swat, and they were engaged enough in their play to miss the entrance of a few customers.

"Oh," Mila muttered sheepishly, straightening up.

She grabbed a notepad off the counter and hopped off a stool.

"Take the counter," she said to Jenny. "I'll grab the guy at the table," she offered.

Jenny nodded and turned brightly to the young couple who had just walked in. True to her employee handbook, she greeted them and asked them what they'd like. The young girl leapt into a rapid list of pastries and ground coffee and Jenny took it down mentally, memorizing quickly.

The guy with her was looking at her intently—and when Jenny glanced up to give them their total, she thought he looked vaguely familiar.

"You want the beans ground?" Jenny asked.

"Yes," the young woman agreed, shoving the guy with her in the ribs with an annoyed look—Jenny flushed slightly; the guy wasn't looking at her in a _leering_ way, he just looked slightly smug.

Jenny grabbed a pad of paper and yanked a pen from behind her ear.

"What's your name?" she asked politely. "I'll call you when the espresso's ready," she said.

"Jackie," the woman answered, and then jerked her thumb at the guy next to her. "You can just write _Idiot_ on his."

"Okay," Jenny agreed seriously, flashing a smile at the other girl.

Jackie smirked and gave her an approving look—and Jenny decided she actually was going to write _Idiot_ on the Styrofoam, because the guy was definitely still looking at her in that annoying, smug way.

"Why're you starin' at her, Leon?" Jackie snapped.

Jenny bit her lip, amused—until she swore she heard the guy say back, in a low voice:

"'Cause that's _her_."

But she could have been wrong, because Mila darted back around the corner and grabbed her arm at that moment, frowning. Slightly distracted, Jenny jumped—and she swore she felt Jackie staring at her.

"What?" she asked Mila.

"The guy at the table just wants espresso, Jamaican blend," she said in a low voice. She made a face. "You know I _suck_ at the espresso machine."

Jenny shrugged easily.

"I'll make it," she said, shoving a notepad into Mila's hands. "Those two want a skim latte and a green iced tea," she informed her, side-stepping her to stroke the espresso machine to life—Jenny made a mean espresso; it was the pride of the shop, even if she really couldn't understand why other people found it so hard to literally just transfer espresso into a cup—they always got it too hot, or steamed it too much—she grinned, shaking her head.

Mila had a much easier time getting together the pastries and drinks for the couple, so Jenny took her time getting the espresso just right—she was a particular expert at the Jamaican blend, as it was the Colonel's favorite.

"Hey, M, was this to go?" Jenny asked swiftly, easing off the dispenser.

"Yeah," Mila answered, materializing next to her. "Here—thanks, I've got it now."

Jenny handed it off to her and turned around, leaning back. The couple was near the door now, waiting for the guy at the table—

-_the guy at the table_.

Jenny's eyes snapped suddenly to the guy—Leon—and she realized immediately that he'd been playing football near the Navy Memorial on the Fourth of July, and she only remembered because the guy sitting at the table, waiting for Mila to bring him a Jamaican blend espresso, was none other than the Marine whose dog tag she had on her keychain.

Leon grinned at her, and at that moment, she felt _his_ eyes on her.

She looked over immediately, pointedly, and confidently—and met those unmistakable blue eyes.

She pushed forward off the counter she was leaning on suddenly and reached for Mila's arm.

"Mila," she said silkily. "Mind if I take devil dog over there his check?" she asked.

Mila turned and looked at the table, her brow wrinkling.

"How'd you know he's a Marine?" she asked.

"It's a gift," Jenny said, and plucked the check and the espresso from Mila's hand without further adieu.

She walked briskly around the counter, tucking the check into her pocket, and ignored the couple's eyes on her as she pulled up a chair at the Marine's little café table and took a seat, leaning forward on her elbows and lowering her lashes in feigned modesty.

"Gibbs?" Jackie asked.

He lifted his hand, waving her off without answering, and the Leon nudged Jackie out the door quickly, marching her down the street without a word. He—the Marine—lifted his chin and met her eyes with surprising audacity.

Jenny nudged the espresso towards him, tapping it with a nail.

He leaned forward to take it, and she inched it back a little, cocking an eyebrow.

He grinned charmingly.

"What's it cost me?" he asked.

She hardly missed a beat.

"A copy of _Macbeth."_

He smirked, flashing a somewhat roguish smile—but she could tell he looked a little humbly chastened, and she took pride in that, pressing her tongue between her teeth fetchingly and lowering her chin expectantly.

His eyes flicked to her lips for a moment and he reached up and rubbed his jaw, his thumb catching his lower lip and dragging a little.

"Yeah," he agreed gruffly. "Figure I owe you that."

"Mmm, do you?" she drawled, feigning curiosity. She tapped the coffee cup again. "I ought to charge you as much for this espresso as it would cost to take me to dinner," she teased smoothly. "At _Palena_," she added emphatically.

At that, he leaned forward, and put his hand possessively over the top of the cup. He arched his eyebrow.

"You turned down dinner," he reminded her, calling to mind the conditions she'd given him.

She tilted her head at him thoughtfully and chewed on her bottom lip, narrowing her eyes slightly. She smirked and slid the cup towards him, reaching into her pocket and pulling out his check. She pinned it to the table with her nail and pursed her lips, lifting her shoulders sympathetically.

"The only number on _this_," she said casually, "is your charge."

He reached for it, and purposely brushed her fingers with his, slipping it away from her. She allowed the familiarity, taking a moment to look over him—he was really, really good-looking—and then snapped her eyes back to his face in that same confident way—never mind what her heart was doing.

He looked at the check for a minute, and then looked back up at her.

"You want your book?" he asked abruptly.

She lifted her brows.

"Is it in your pocket?" she asked with interest. "I thought you might just be happy to see me."

He seemed caught off guard by the jest, and she laughed, amused. He listened to her, and then took his coffee cup away, cradling it in his palm.

"It's at the barracks," he said gruffly, jerking his head towards the door. "Take a walk with me."

She leaned back in her cast iron café chair and considered him intently.

"And why should I do that, Lance Corporal?" she asked quietly.

He made a noise in his throat.

"Corporal," he corrected—a touch of pride in his voice.

She clicked her tongue.

"Corporal," she repeated, trying—and failing—to hide that she was impressed. He had been promoted since she'd last stumbled into him—mark of a damn good Marine.

She waited for his answer. He rubbed his jaw—she thought it might be a nervous thing—and leaned forward. He shrugged his shoulders, meeting her eyes with his—so striking—blues.

"Why not?" he challenged gruffly.

She pursed her lips, and grinned.

* * *

It was breezy outside, enough to pull and pick at her loose bun until there were so many strands whipping across her face that she gave in and pulled the elastic tie out. She reached up to shove the thick locks out of her face and smiled into her arm for a moment, keeping step with—Gibbs—on the sidewalks of Eastern Market.

The Marine Corps' city barracks were a stone's throw from her café; it wasn't too much of an imposition for her to agree to a little walk with him—if it was miserable, it wasn't that far, and Mila readily agreed to cover for her if their manager showed up.

She felt a little out of sorts—she did _like_ her work uniform, but it wasn't exactly something she'd choose if she was going to, well, flirt—but this was impromptu, so she couldn't be faulted. To her credit, her hair had the natural, blessed tendency to look good regardless of her situation—so she kept running her hands through it. She glanced at him, caught him looking at her, and laughed slightly nervously, arching her eyebrows. He smirked at her lazily, refusing to be ashamed that he was busted admiring her, and she pursed her lips, waiting for her to say something.

"You aren't very talkative," she remarked finally, flashing a smile at him.

He shrugged his shoulders, scuffed his foot on the sidewalk, and then squinted at her.

"What's your dog's name?" he asked unexpectedly.

She looked taken aback.

"My-?"

"The German—"

"—Shepherd," she finished wryly. She tilted her head. "He liked you," she remembered—her beloved pet hadn't growled at Gibbs, and he usually growled at people he didn't recognize when they approached Jenny.

Gibbs' lips turned up smugly, and he nodded. He waited for her to answer.

"His name's Ike," Jenny answered.

"Ike," Gibbs repeated.

She nodded.

"Like—Eisenhower. General Eisenhower," she explained, pushing her hair back again. "I almost named him Otto, because we were in Germany when I got him—but Dad made this joke about 'liking Ike', and it stuck," she trailed off a little, biting her lip. She lifted her shoulders. "So—he's Ike."

Gibbs nodded slowly.

"Germany?" he asked.

"We were stationed in Stuttgart," she informed him. "For a year, when I was thirteen."

"You speak German?"

She grinned.

"_Ja_," she answered pointedly—she said nothing else.

He was walking a little closer to her, and it wasn't much further to the barracks now. She shoved her hair behind her ears, hoping it would stay there, and she licked her bottom lip thoughtfully, looking ahead of her. She squinted in the sun and lifted her chin, tilting her head back slightly to bask in it.

"Your Dad's an important guy," Gibbs observed warily.

"To some," she said, blinking at the sky. She shrugged carelessly. "He's my father," she pointed out simply—he was her father, and he was all she had. She compressed her lips, furrowing her brow at the sun. "It can't have been the Colonel who scared you," she remarked coolly.

"I wasn't scared," he countered immediately, setting his jaw firmly.

She turned on her heel, cutting in front of him and walking backwards. He slowed his pace, tilting his head, and she gracefully kept hers, meeting his eyes again intently. She parted her lips, giving him a look that challenged his comment—if he wasn't scared, what had sent him running?

"I suppose you enjoyed _Macbeth_ so much, you couldn't bear to give it back," she simpered.

He gave her a withering look and she laughed at him primly, lifting her shoulder demandingly. She stuck her tongue between her teeth, about to provoke him again, when her boot caught in a crack on the sidewalk and she nearly took a tumble—

-luckily she was right in front of the barracks' entrance at that point, and both one of the guards out front and Gibbs lunged forward to catch her. They set her on her feet, with the one in full dress tipping his hat and calling her ma'am, and Gibbs led her just inside near the bricks. She flushed, running her hand over her skirt to smooth it out, and he grinned at her importantly, his eyes glinting with the same charm he'd given her in her driveway, and on the Fourth of July. She looked up at him fiercely, recovering from her little stumble, and set her shoulders.

"What changed your mind?" she demanded bluntly.

His jaw twitched slightly.

"Didn't change my mind," he said stubbornly, looking over her to make sure she was okay. He grunted vaguely and cleared his throat, glancing over at the guards to see if they were eavesdropping. He gestured with his elbow to the left—and she noticed the couple, Leon and Jackie, was clearly waiting for him. "Vance—warned me off."

"Good of you to listen," Jenny deadpanned, "as I eat Marines for breakfast."

Gibbs looked sheepish.

"He told me you were," he faltered for a flattering word, "young."

Jenny blinked defiantly.

"You're not old," she pointed out.

He snorted, conceding her point.

"'M not sixteen," he said gruffly.

She lifted her eyebrows innocently. She leaned forward and shook her head, pursing her lips seriously.

"I'm not, either."

He looked surprised, and then turned and shot a violent look at his friend. He took a step back, considering her, and she tilted her head towards the barracks.

_"Macbeth,"_ she reminded him, throwing him off.

He stood for a second, and then he whirled on his heel and ran off to fetch it, presumably to wherever his sparse quarters were inside the building. Jenny leaned back against the brick, waiting, and pulled her hair over her shoulder, dragging her fingers through it absently. She heard the footsteps as Gibbs' friend jogged over to her, but she didn't look over at him until he stopped right next to her and tipped his hat.

"Miss," he said.

She ignored him another minute and then turned and looked over him slowly, her expression piercing.

"Leon Vance, I presume?" she inquired.

"You're the Colonel's girl," he said, without confirming her guess. He grinned at her handsomely and put his hands behind his back, standing naturally at ease in front of her. She propped one of her feet up against the wall behind her and considered him, shielding her eyes from the sun with her lashes expertly.

"That's one out of two," she said finally, cocking an eyebrow.

He tilted his head.

"Miss?" he questioned politely.

Jenny considered him.

"You make a habit of cataloguing the ages of local military brats?" she asked coolly, and then narrowed her eyes. "Or is it just inaccurate misinformation that interests you?"

He managed to look a little sheepish—just like Gibbs had. He touched his hat, and then gestured at Jackie.

"My old man worked with yours in Afghanistan," he said gallantly. "I reckon I was just givin' Jethro a hard time."

Jenny was silent for a moment. She smiled at him dangerously.

"Don't Marines have some rule against interfering with each other's," she snapped her fingers, "what's the word—tail?"

Leon Vance lowered his eyes and smirked, a little impressed with her ability to hold her own. He looked back up at her, nudging up the brim of his cover, and nodded approvingly.

"How old are you, then?" he asked curiously.

"Leon—I swear, how many times I gotta tell you not to ask women how old they are?" Jackie was at his elbow suddenly, swatting him. She shot a glance at Jenny. "Don't answer him, honey, he's just beside himself that Gibbs had a chance with a pretty thing like you," she complimented flippantly, and then arched her neck towards the barracks.

Jenny shrugged.

"Old enough to own a brand new, firecracker red Mustang convertible," she said simply, flashing a sweet smile.

Jenny noticed the glint, flash, and sparkle of a diamond ring on her left hand as she shoved Leon Vance away, glaring at him bossily with demanding, dark eyes. She remained where she was while Jackie started to drag him away—Gibbs was coming back out of the barracks—but on a whim, she leaned forward and grabbed Vance's uniform.

"Hey," she said, lowering her voice. "How old's the corporal?" she asked, flicking her eyes at Gibbs.

"Twenty-one," answered Vance immediately.

Jackie swatted him again. She shot Jenny a wary look.

"He's twenty-two in two weeks," she said warily. "He doesn't need anything that will jeopardize his career," she warned protectively, dragging Leon off more forcefully.

Jenny blinked at her retreating form placidly, accepting the veiled criticism for what it was—Jackie seemed like a smart girl, and Jenny wasn't an idiot; it was a very precarious age gap and she wasn't going to act childishly offended when she was warned about it.

Gibbs jogged back up to her, his eyes sharply on the figures of his friends for a moment.

"We'll wait for you at the metro, Gibbs," Jackie yelled matter-of-factly, pulling Leon insistently out of the archway and onto the sidewalk.

Gibbs nodded, and Jenny leaned forward back against the brick, her hands behind her to cushion her tailbone against the roughness. She blinked a little, taking in a deep breath, and her eyes fell to the tattered book in his hands—she couldn't help but smile; the last time she'd seen it, she'd been scrawling her number in it with lipstick. She kept admiring the title, wrinkling her nose and remembering the ridiculous flirtations they'd engaged in, and then she sensed he was _looking_ at her again.

The way he looked at her was really—arresting.

So, she called him on it. She looked up sharply and caught his eyes.

"Why do you stare at me like that?" she asked.

He shrugged simply.

"You're attractive," he answered bluntly, his voice a little quiet.

She closed her eyes, wrinkling her nose, and laughed nervously, glancing in the other direction for a moment. She opened one eye and peered at him through it, biting her lip and quietly letting the compliment wash over her.

He held out her book to her, and she took it. He didn't let go, and she didn't pull it away. She just held it for a moment, thinking. She tossed her head, and blew some loose hairs out of her eyes.

"I am closer to eighteen than I am to sixteen," she said wryly.

He seemed to hesitate. His jaw tensed. It wasn't that he didn't want to take her out—he just didn't want to put her in a situation that she couldn't handle. He could be fairly considerate in that department—he had a lot of experience with the way teenager girls tended to think—

"It's up to you," he said gruffly, finally. He cracked a lopsided smirk. "'M not scared," he reminded her smugly.

She bit her lip, and took the book, folding it against her chest. She narrowed her eyes and looked at him a moment, in the very searching, intimate way she had learned from her father—he'd taught her how to read people's souls in their eyes, or so he claimed when she was five-years-old, and he taught her how to win a staring contest.

The problem was—she discovered—Gibbs didn't seem to be a fazed by the studying; he was a studier, too.

"Tell you what," she offered slowly. "You keep running into me at the café," she suggested. "Nothing formal; no pressure," she smirked wryly. "That gives you time to decide if you see something you like," she teased, harking back to the first day they'd met.

He tilted his head, and she shrugged.

"We'll get to know each other," she said simply-and then she leaned forward slightly, narrowing her eyes curiously. "Incidentally-is it Leroy, or Jethro?" she asked, because his dog tags said _'Leroy Jethro',_ but Vance had just called him _Jethro._

"Which d'you like better?" he offered roguishly.

She considered him, trying to decide quickly which she liked better-Jethro, she decided, because his parents probably called him Leroy-but maybe she'd just call him Gibbs, until she really got to know him...she bit her tongue and gave him a snarky look, her eyes sparkling.

"I haven't decided yet," she retorted.

He gave her a look, straightening his shoulders. His eyes took on a serious, responsible look.

"What about the Colonel?" he asked.

Jenny smiled wickedly, arching her eyebrow. She parted her lips with a lofty glint in her eye, suddenly reminded of Lady Macbeth's effortless convincing of Macbeth to obey her.

"You leave the Colonel to me," she snorted. "I absolutely terrify him."

* * *

_excellent way to start the new year, don't you think?  
__well-let's see how this turns out, y'all!_

_-alexandra  
story #182_

* * *

_*note: i'm not a member of the military nor am i part of a military family; i have limited knowledge about the hierarchal workings of the military, and thought i've done research on ranks, assignments, lengths of training, etc. i don't have the time (what with school, and writing being a hobby) or the resources to fully and extensively make sure all of the information is foolproof and 100% accurate, therefore, liberties have been taken. do not take what i write as fact concerning military policy in sniper training schools, deployments, leave time, etc. artistic liberties have been taken, i know that, and i freely admit it. please keep that in mind as you read. _

* * *

..


	4. American Quaker Fantasy

_A/N:__ understandably, the format/feel of this is going to be comparable to a YA novel; i can't think of much to compare it to. perhaps judy blume, or meg cabot? those are women i'd like to emulate in writing a "young romance" or something. conversations are typically teenage-at least, they're reminiscent of how my friends and i talked to each other in high school._

_and, we continue:_

* * *

_Chapter Two_

_American Quaker Fantasy_

* * *

Army Colonel Jasper Shepard was not actually terrified of his teenage daughter—not in the conventional sense of the word—and Jenny damn well knew that. What she meant, when she so casually told Gibbs she could handle her father, was that the Colonel had a distinct, suspicious fear that he was going to have to deal with something awkward—and oftentimes, she could easily capitalize on that and blindside him into thinking she had the upper hand.

In this case, her father had virtually no experience dealing with Jenny and potential suitors, as the extent of her interest in the male half of the population usually consisted of her scathing comments about the idiots her age or loud, dramatic lamentations that Henry Cavill was never going to marry her.

Men, dating—it just wasn't something that had come up yet in their solitary, father-daughter relationship. It wasn't something she was particularly worried about—because she had enough faith in her own common sense to highly doubt there would ever be a situation in which she did something totally reprehensible in his eyes—but he was her father, he was protective of her, and she was instinctively wary of anything that might rupture the really good relationship they had.

That—and her father's approval and pride meant the world to her, and she was nervous he might nix the idea of her dating—even this casually—an older boy, and she really did want to go out with Gibbs—but she didn't want to buck the Colonel or disappoint him—and so she—

"I still can't believe you haven't told the Colonel," Holly voiced Jenny's thoughts aloud, her eyes sparkling gleefully as she studied Jenny's hair with a critical eye.

She reached out to adjust what she saw as a flaw in the red curls, and Jenny swatted her away with a glare. Holly rolled her eyes, frowning good-naturedly.

"You haven't told the Colonel?" Nina asked, affronted.

"She hasn't told the Colonel," sang Holly, crinkling her nose.

Jenny shoved her playfully out of the way and sat down at her vanity, leaning forward to study her hair—there was nothing wrong with it; she liked it to look tousled, and it was windy outside, anyway—but tonight, she was just a little more antsy than usual about getting it perfect.

She lifted her chin, examining herself for blemishes.

"Relax, ladies," she placated calmly. "I make last minute plans all the time. You know it doesn't bother Dad."

"Duh, Jenny, he doesn't care if you go to a movie with _me_!" Holly retorted. She threw her hands up. "I don't have a dick!"

Jenny threw a hairbrush at her, flushing.

"Outings with males require a courtesy notification of six days," Nina piped up solemnly, her nose peeking out from behind a statistics textbook.

"How would you know?" Holly responded, giggling. She tossed the hairbrush at Nina gently and rolled her eyes. "Your dad would vote for Ronald Reagan before he'd let you go out with a _male_," she joked.

"Ronald Reagan's dead," Nina said placidly.

"Seriously, Jenny," Holly said, collapsing on the edge of the bed and turning to her friend. "You've known you were going out with him since-?" She waited patiently for Jenny to remind her.

"Tuesday," muttered Jenny vaguely.

"Nina's totally right," Holly asserted. "You should have given ol' Jasper time to prepare."

"Tuesday was only three days ago," Jenny pointed out, purposely being difficult.

Holly glared at her.

"Regardless, smart ass," she retorted. "Even the most laid back Dads turn into psycho-spastic shotgun-wielding backwoods Republicans when you bring boys into the equation."

"Daddy is already a Republican," Jenny pointed out mildly.

Holly stomped her foot.

"Well—look at my Dad. He basically defines 'pinko commie bastard' and the first time he met Mark, he threatened to beat him with a _bible_ if he got me back home after nine," she groused. "You're purposely missing my point, Jenny. Your Dad is going to go into a pre-programmed 'lock my daughter in a chastity tower' mode—and do you really want your Marine to have to meet him in _that_ state?"

There was some truth to what Holly was saying, but Jenny wouldn't satisfy her by admitting to it. She frowned slightly and refused to answer, studying her face in the mirror again. She stuck out her lower lip and rummaged through a plastic container full of lipsticks, searching thoughtfully for the right one. She didn't want to address the fact that she was—well, essentially _scared_ to bring this up, and she didn't want to cop to the obvious fact that she had screwed up in not preparing him beforehand. She felt slightly sheepish to be called out on her lack of foresight by _Holly_—whose general motto in life was act first, half-heartedly lament and giggle about action later.

"He's already met Dad, technically," Jenny stated, poking her lips with her nail to make sure they weren't chapped—she didn't want to ruin the sweep of the lipstick. "He asked him if he could take me out."

Nina cocked an eyebrow and peeked over the edge of her book—she was stretched out on her back on Jenny's bed, studying the material earnestly. Her dark black hair cascaded off the edge and brushed the floor. Holly met Nina's eyes skeptically—both of them remembered the story Jenny had given them, and both of them knew damn well Colonel Shepard was only half serious—because he wholly expected Jenny to, for lack of better phrasing, shoot the Marine down.

"He said that because you've never accepted any guy and you know it," Holly snorted.

"Hey, I went out with Todd," Jenny reminded her defensively. Todd had graduated last year—and she went on a few dates with him before she realized she was completely uninterested in him unless they were talking about the French Revolution.

"Todd's only eight months older than you," Holly said flippantly. "You know what I mean, those young guys your dad works with and trains and stuff, they ask you out all the time and you say no."

Jenny shrugged. She turned around with two tubes of lipstick in her hand and held them up, catching Nina's eye.

"Hmm," she sighed. "Dark red, or the berry pinkish?"

Nina squinted narrowly.

"Pinkish," she decided, winking suggestively. "The red matches your sweater. It would look weird."

"Pink's good," Holly agreed. "But _God_—I wish you'd take off that cardigan. It's so bulky and tacky and it hides your curves," she complained, sighing with her usual annoyance at Jenny's fashion quirks.

"I like this cardigan," Jenny retorted. She shrugged. "It's chilly at night now—and I agreed to the shorts. I don't want to freeze my ass off."

She pretended she was reluctant to wear the short denim shorts Holly and Nina had agreed on, because it was late September and she was a practical girl, but she wasn't too fussed about it—she knew her legs were her best feature, and this was one of the last chances she had to show them off before cold fall weather really set in. She'd paired them with tan ankle boots, a lightweight, slightly clingy blue blouse, and the cardigan Holly had such a vendetta against.

It produced an appropriately casual, attractive look for the forthcoming evening.

"I wish you'd just let me curl your hair—I brought my wand, and oh my gosh, I could give you bouncy ringlets, it would look perfect—"

"I don't want it to look perfect; I want it to look natural," Jenny interrupted simply, shrugging her shoulders.

Holly rolled her eyes good-naturedly and leaned back on the bed, her head landing next to Nina's. She nudged her and squinted up at the statistics book, going over the information lazily—Holly was uncannily talented in the math department.

"Don't you want to knock his socks off?" Holly asked seriously. "I mean, you're a total stunner, Jenny, but—"

"He's seen me at work. He knows I look like an average human," Jenny said mildly. She played with the lip colour she'd chosen, holding out on applying until after she spoke to her father.

"Yeah, about that," Holly said, bolting upright. She hopped back on the bed and crossed her legs, tilting her head. "What the hell do you guys talk about while he stalks you?"

"It's not stalking!" Jenny defended, whirling around. She cocked an eyebrow. "I told him to hang around," she said, lifting her chin primly. "It's _courting_," she joked slyly.

"Courting," Holly giggled. She lifted her eyebrows insistently, waiting for an answer expectantly.

Nina shut her book and lowered it to her face, groaning a little at the wealth of information she was supposed to know for the year. She flipped it over into Holly's lap with a sense of finality and rolled over, blowing her hair lazily out of her face.

"Baseball game is a good place for a first date," Nina remarked. She tossed her hair over her shoulders and blinked thoughtful blue eyes, crossing her legs at the ankle. "If conversation lulls, you can talk about the game, or the weird, overzealous guy in front of you—that, and it's baseball, he's military, it is the quintessential American dream," she analyzed.

Holly pulled her hair playfully.

"She's got a point. Mark and I kept going to dinner and it was so awkward—we really loosened up when we went to the zoo," she reflected, before going back to her original line of questioning. "But Jenny already spends half her time talking to the Marine, Neener, remember?" she reminded them wickedly. She lifted narrowed her eyes and pointed sharply at the redhead. "Dish."

Jenny leaned against her vanity, facing her friends. She pressed her tongue against her teeth, thinking about what she wanted to divulge. In the wake of her silence, Nina piped up.

"Are you nervous at all?" she asked.

Jenny looked at her, and shook her head slowly. She shrugged.

"No, I mean—I'm comfortable with him," she said honestly.

"But this is the _first date_," Nina said emphatically. "It is sort of, you know, milestone-ish."

She crinkled her nose a little uncomfortably.

"That's precisely why I don't like defining it like that," she muttered a little tensely. "I like him, so I talk to him, and tonight, I'm going out with him, so," she let the sentence hang, and shrugged again.

She was nervous, and she wasn't—this was sort of a definitive thing, because she assumed if this went well there would be more dates, and after more dates, there would be other things to define, and she had no experience there—

She blinked rapidly, biting her lower lip. She meant it when she said she was comfortable with him—it had been a good idea for him to hang around so they could get to know each other. Jenny lowered her lashes and licked her lips, nodding to herself, and then looking up and nodded at Nina.

"I'm not worried about it being awkward," she said.

"Because he hangs out with you at work," Holly goaded, raising her voice. She puckered her lip. "C'mon, Jenny, I'm dying to know what you guys talk about. Or, I mean, does he just stare at you?"

Jenny laughed.

"He doesn't just stare," she corrected, rolling her eyes. She racked her brains critically. "I don't know, we talk about whatever comes up. Annoying customers, what real coffee is, unbelievable crap that happens at the barracks. He reads a lot. He brings books," she revealed.

"What does he read?" Nina asked, interested. "The kind of stuff you—we—read?"

Jenny shook her head.

"Nah, more like—military history. Sun Tzu, Bismarck, Iwo Jima," she paused, and smirked slightly. "He started a biography on Dwight Eisenhower," she said, her cheeks flushing slightly.

He'd grunted in a vague way that he wanted to know why her dog deserved to be named after the general.

Holly rolled her eyes.

"Forget all I said about the Colonel, Jazz's gonna love this dude."

"If you call my dad 'Jazz' _one_ more time, I think he's going to have a psychotic break," Jenny said seriously, wincing at the cutesy nickname.

Holly smiled sweetly. Jenny leaned forward, smirking.

"Oh—he told me this crazy story about his buddy, this guy who likes older women—as in, cougars who are married to officers—he told me how Tobias had to sleep _under this lady's bed_—"

Holly thrust up her palm violently and stopped Jenny.

"You've got to be kidding me," she broke in loudly.

Jenny blinked.

"What?"

"Leroy Jethro's best friend is named Tobias?" Holly asked incredulously. "What colonial American Quaker fantasy did these guys walk out of?" she demanded.

Jenny arched an eyebrow.

"Gibbs is from Pennsylvania," she said solemnly, and then cracked a grin. "I haven't met Tobias; I don't know what his excuse is."

She endured Holly's looks for a moment before she ran her hand through her hair and shifted forward, waving her hands at them abruptly.

"You're dismissed, handmaidens, I'm sufficiently attired," she declared dramatically. She stood up and reached for Holly, dragging her into a standing position and catching the statistics book deftly as it fell from her friend's lap.

Nina rolled off the bed and landed as gracefully as a cat on her feet, standing straight and tall immediately. She grabbed her leather bag off the bed—they had both come over directly after school to assist in outfits and to generally gossip about the week. Jenny had heard her father come home half an hour ago. He was probably in the study hiding—he'd have seen Holly's car on the street—and Jenny needed a decent amount of time to—upend his world, basically.

"I have yet to figure out why you needed me," Nina sighed seriously.

"I always need you," Jenny replied seriously, and nudged a stubborn Holly towards the door. "Your job is done, milady," she drawled.

"If my job was done, your eyeliner would be sparkly, you wouldn't be wearing that cardigan, and you'd have ringlets," Holly retorted. "But I see we have reached an impasse—and at least I convinced you to go with those shorts," she added wryly.

Jenny gallantly inclined her head in thanks, and Holly grabbed her shoulders.

"What would it take for you to let me stay and meet Leroy Jethro Gibbs?" she asked in a last ditch attempt—she'd been trying to find a way all week.

"Your virginity," Jenny deadpanned, and Holly frowned, throwing her head back playfully and cursing the ceiling.

"Damn Mark and his persuasive homecoming night clichés," she lamented, grinning back at Jenny. She cocked an eyebrow—begging, and Jenny glared at her.

"No," she said seriously. She swatted Holly's hands off her. "He's not ready for Holly Daniels—besides, he already has to face the Colonel tonight."

Holly conceded that point quickly and slipped past Jenny to get her own backpack. She slung it over one shoulder and pulled it around, rummaging through a side pocket. Nina waited in the doorway—Holly was her ride home.

"Here," Holly said, her voice muffled. She pulled her hand from the side pocket and thrust a handful of plastic-wrapped items at Jenny. She grinned wickedly. "I brought you a glove for the baseball game."

Jenny managed to catch one of them—and stared at it dubiously, lowering her hand and glaring at Holly. Holly cackled, and Jenny could feel Nina roll her eyes.

"What—" Jenny started to snap.

"It's a condom, Jenny," Holly interrupted.

"I know what a prophylactic is," Jenny retorted snottily, and Holly rolled her eyes at the use of the large word.

Holly shrugged.

"Safe is smart," she said simply. "Keep it in your wristlet behind your debit card. Snug fit," she advised.

"I don't need this," Jenny said, chucking it in a drawer on her vanity—she'd pick up the ones on the floor later.

Her heart jumped in her throat anxiously, but she swallowed it down, and glared at Holly. Holly looked back at her with a bit of annoying superiority, and shrugged her shoulders.

"He's a twenty-two year old Marine, Jenny," she said logically. "What do you think he's expecting?"

"Holly," Nina sighed, clicking her tongue. "It's a mistake to generalize men like that."

Holly skipped forward, shooting Nina a pitying look and then punching Jenny lightly in the shoulder.

"You don't think he's a virgin, do you?" she asked skeptically, arching a blonde eyebrow.

Jenny glared at her defiantly.

"I hope not," she retorted, with a bravado she didn't necessarily feel.

Holly smirked, and gave her a little wave. She and Nina headed out the door, and Jenny followed them, taking the steps two at a time to the landing to see them out the front door. Nina shared a look with her that seemed to say—typical Holly—and Jenny returned it with a roll of her eyes, saying goodbye and shutting the door behind them.

She leaned against it, frowning, and tried to shake the insecurity that Holly had inadvertently awakened in the back of her mind—she had a point, didn't she? There was no way he'd—

Jenny abruptly cut off her inner stream of consciousness and whistled loudly, inducing Ike to dart out of the study and run with his tail wagging to her feet, whining lovingly. She leaned forward to kiss his soft snout, and distracted herself from Holly's words by facing the slightly daunting task at hand—

The Colonel.

* * *

Jasper Shepard usually returned home from the Pentagon promptly at six in the evening, at which time he immediately sequestered himself in the study to tackle paperwork and strategic planning. He was particularly busy these days because of the investigation into some of his inferiors and the light it was reflecting on him—and to Jenny's chagrin, she recognized the NCIS insignia on the papers he was looking at, and realized he probably wasn't in a good mood.

She casually entered the study with Ike at her heels and waltzed to the shelf where the crystal and the liquor were displayed proudly. She ran her hands over several prized bottles of cognac—all given to her father by various dignitaries—and silently chose his favorite bottle of scotch.

It was twelve-year-old Macallan, and it was almost gone.

He glanced over at her and grunted as she poured for him.

"The girls sleeping over?" he asked—he'd heard Nina and Holly in the hall.

Jenny shook her head placidly.

"They have plans," she answered mildly, turning and placing the double shot neatly on his desk.

He gave her a short smile and a nod of thanks, and she retreated to the comfortable leather couch, dropping down on it easily and leaning back. She stretched her legs out, glancing at the empty fireplace, and Ike nuzzled up to her side, burrowing his snout sweetly in her ribcage. She scratched his ears, and the Colonel glared at her seriously.

"And since when do Holly and Nina have plans that do not include you?" he asked astutely.

Jenny grinned—it was a rare event when she wasn't running around the city doing something with the girls on the weekend, and when she was home, it wasn't because they had plans without her. She shrugged her shoulders and started to answer, but her father beat her to it.

"You look like you're goin' out," he pointed out warily, eyeing her shorts with his usual paternal annoyance.

She inclined her head.

"I have ditched Nina and Holly because I have other plans," she said mildly, still scratching Ike's ears pleasantly.

He glared at her narrowly and she gave him an innocent smile, lifting her eyebrows as if to allay any suspicions he might have. She ignored the slight dryness in her mouth and pursed her lips.

"I have decided to branch out in the social aspect of my life," she announced dramatically. "I'm going out with a different person this evening. I've accepted a date."

"Is this person a male?" the Colonel demanded immediately, an outraged look crossing his stern face.

Jenny blinked.

"I think so, though I didn't ask him to drop his pants," she deadpanned, and then raised an eyebrow. "Date implies _male_, unless you're making assumptions about me of the…Sapphic nature."

"Sapphic?—_What_—Jennifer," he spluttered, growling and narrowing his eyes. He blinked at her harshly a few times, and she silently refused to explain to him the finer definitions of the word Sapphic. He seemed to stumble over his thoughts and then griped: "I'd rather you date a girl."

She stared at him, amused.

"Okay," she said seriously. "I'll just go upstairs and put on a different sexuality."

Jasper glared at her with even more annoyance. He reached for the scotch she'd poured him and curled his hand around it, lowering his eyes tensely for a moment before looking back up at her sharply.

"Drop the comedian act," he ordered firmly. "What's going on tonight?" he asked seriously, his eyes on her hawkishly.

She pulled her hand away from Ike and straightened up a little, dropping her so-called _act_ immediately. Her dad liked her sense of humor—but there was no need to be overly flippant with him about this. She lifted her chin and held his piercing gaze.

"You remember back in June, when you told that Marine he could take me out?" she began.

"No," he answered bluntly—and she hesitated, attempting to discern if he seriously didn't remember, or if he was being petulant.

She was fairly sure it was the latter, so she raised an eyebrow skeptically and went on.

"Well," she said carefully, "allegedly, you told this Marine he could take me out—it was like two weeks after school got out—which prompted him to ask me to dinner, which prompted me to be slightly annoyed that you offered me up without so much as a dowry," she paused, smiled wryly, and then sped up when he gave her a withering look: "and a sort of casual flirtation ensued."

She stopped talking, and noticed the look on her father's face was growing slightly thunderous. She re-evaluated for a moment—it suddenly occurred to her that he might think she'd been seriously dating someone behind his back, and she quickly shook her head, sitting forward.

"I shot him down," she said frankly. "But I ran into him again a few times, and he was persistent—"

"He _harassed_ you?" interrupted Jasper dangerously.

"No, Daddy," Jenny corrected, rolling her eyes. She smiled. "He was _politely_ persistent," she amended, "and I—he's—I decided to give him a chance."

Her father stared at her for what seemed like an eternity, and then he promptly lifted his glass of scotch and downed the whole thing in one gulp. He sat it back down on the desk loudly and leaned back, his eyes hardly having left Jenny the whole time. He continued to stare at her, and then lifted his hand and rubbed his jaw.

"This date is tonight?" he asked shortly.

She nodded, and started to tell him—

"You thought it was a brilliant idea to tell me about a date the day of?" he went on curtly, narrowing his eyes.

Jenny winced.

"It isn't—a big fancy deal, Dad," she placated warily. "He's taking me to a Nationals' game, and he's not driving. It's very casual—"

"Jennifer," he broke in, holding up his hand. "You expected me not to bat an eyelid at you frolicking across the city with some boy I've never met?" he demanded.

She stared at him.

"F—frolicking?" she repeated, startled, before realizing he was dead serious and sobering up. "Technically, you have met him," she reminded him tensely. "He asked you if he could take me out. You told him _yes_."

Jasper fixed her with a look that properly admonished her—he knew she was trying to ambush him, and she knew damn well that he had never expected to be confronted with Jenny actually saying yes to this guy—and thus he was sort of trapped; he had agreed, but she was manipulating it inappropriately.

She reached for Ike again, curling her hand into his fur for comfort, and tossed her head, pushing her hair out of her face.

"He's been hanging out at work, so I've gotten to know him," she ventured. "He's a good Marine, and he's—respectful of you," she smiled a little, "he was wary to ask me out, but I convinced him it was worth it."

"This guy I don't know has been hangin' around your work, turnin' your head," groused Jasper, leaning forward in his chair. He put his finger down on his desk and pressed hard, tapping a little. His eyes narrowed. "And you didn't think once to mention you were thinkin' about seein' someone—goddamnit, Jennifer," he growled suddenly.

She winced. The Colonel squinted thoughtfully, and frowned sharply.

"That Marine who dropped off the NCIS file," he muttered, wracking his memory. He glared at her. "He was too old for you."

"You don't know how old he is," Jenny pointed out simply.

Her father lifted his eyebrows, demanding she tell him. She licked her lips.

"He's a corporal," she divulged, batting her lashes anxiously.

"He's _too damn old for you_!" roared Jasper. "Marines make corporal at twenty-five, twenty-six—if you think for a second you are leaving this house with a man ten years older than you—"

Jasper stood up menacingly, and Jenny sat forward, throwing her legs off the couch and sitting straight on the edge of it. She shook her head rapidly.

"Dad—Dad!" she snapped, interrupting. She gave him an annoyed look. "I said he's a good Marine—he's…not that old, okay? He joined up when he was my age, he's got a killer record—he's just been promoted quickly," she explained quickly. She hesitated. "He's older, yeah, but he's not—geriatric."

The Colonel didn't sit down.

"Jennifer," he barked. "Can you look me in the eye and honestly tell me that springing this on me last minute was an intelligent move?"

She blinked quickly, and then glanced down at the dog—she couldn't. She chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment before looking back up slightly stubbornly and setting her shoulders back.

"I like him, Dad," she said bluntly. "I was—I was wary of bringing it up, okay? I thought you might nix it before you gave him a chance."

"And if I were to nix it now, the moment he shows up at my door?" asked Jasper abrasively.

She leapt to her feet, her eyes wide.

"No," she fought back. "I—I shouldn't have waited but don't, Dad—"

"I won't," he said tersely. "If the boy's already bought you a ticket, I'm not going to do that to him," he growled logically.

He turned, paced slightly, and rubbed his jaw, growling quietly under his breath. He stopped, standing straight, and looked her over, his eyes even more disapproving of her outfit now that he knew whom it was for. He swallowed.

"How old is he, Jenny?" he asked, brooking no argument.

She folded her arms across herself, and chewed her lip a moment.

"Twenty-two," she answered reluctantly. "He—just turned twenty-two. Six days ago," she added, grasping for justification.

"That's a five year difference," Jasper snapped.

A smart retort flew to the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back—there was no need to push this further than she already had. A voice in her head reminded her that Holly had been right, and she ignored it—irritated once more that her careless friend had in this case been the smart one.

"He was getting a driver's license when you were in elementary school," the Colonel continued, irritating simmering in his green eyes.

Jenny glared at him mildly.

"If you put it that way," she muttered, preferring not to think about it herself.

The doorbell rang, and her father's expression darkened considerably.

"That him?"

She bit her lip.

"We will discuss this further when you get home tonight," growled Jasper tightly.

Jenny stepped back a few paces, and Ike bolted towards the door, howling. She nodded slowly, giving her father a wary look. She turned on her heel and headed towards the door well aware the Colonel was stalking her. She hooked two fingers into Ike's collar and held him back a bit before she unbolted and swung open the heavy wooden door. Ike broke out of her hands and crashed into Gibbs—and he braced himself and accepted it wholeheartedly.

"Hey," he said, giving her his usual, smug sort of half-smirk.

He held his hand to Ike's snout, letting the German Shepherd get a feel for him. Jenny reached out and took Gibbs' arm, pulling him in a little tensely. She lowered her eyelashes, her cheeks flushing slightly, and laughed nervously as she watched Ike keep shoving his body into Gibbs, begging for attention.

"Hi," she said under her breath, managing to slam the door shut around all of Ike's hyperactive behavior.

He caught her eye, and before he could say anything else, she tilted her head slightly.

"He's watching you," she warned quietly, and straightened up.

She turned boldly, squaring her shoulders, and gestured to Gibbs—whom, she was just now really noticing, was quite tall and well built, and probably entirely dangerous looking to a protective, military father. She rested her palm on Gibbs' shoulder to show support and familiarity, and cleared her throat.

"Daddy," she began. "This—"

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs, sir," he said, introducing himself gruffly and holding out his hand.

For a split second, Jenny thought her father was going to refuse the handshake—but she should have known better; Jasper Shepard was an impeccably courteous man mindful of tradition, and he extended his hand firmly—and a little aggressively, she noticed. He nodded his head curtly.

"Jasper Shepard," he grunted, making clear he was automatically suspicious of Gibbs.

For his part, Gibbs seemed to handle it well—and Jenny chalked it up to the probability that he'd been dating for—years, actually—and had probably encountered his share of difficult fathers. That being said—Army Colonels were on a different level than the average Pennsylvanian coal miner.

Jasper released Gibbs' hand abruptly, still glaring at him critically.

"Jen talks about you a lot, sir," Gibbs remarked.

The Colonel's jaw tightened at the nickname and he narrowed his eyes. He glared at Gibbs stubbornly, relishing the silence, and then he straightened his back—Jenny recognized the stance as one he used when he was running drills on base. She rolled her eyes.

"You ever been court martialed?" he asked curtly.

"No, sir," Gibbs answered.

"Arrested?"

Gibbs shook his head in the negative. Jasper glared harder.

"At any point this evening, do you intend to touch my daughter?"

Jenny groaned aloud. Gibbs looked caught off guard for a split second, and then recovered.

"No, sir," he said firmly. "I thought I might buy her some cracker jacks and hope we reach for 'em at the same time," he explained solemnly—and in such a way, that Jasper was visibly taken aback, unsure if he was being screwed with or not.

Jenny made the mistake of laughing lightly. She yanked her hand off Gibbs' shoulder and covered her mouth when she noticed the annoyed look on her father's face. She received a sharp look from the Colonel before he returned to scrutinizing Gibbs. Gibbs bore it with grace—at least, she assumed he did; Gibbs had a maddening tendency to show a complete lack of emotion sometimes.

"You're taking her to a baseball game?" Jasper asked.

Gibbs nodded.

"You are _only_ allowed to take her to the game," warned Jasper dangerously. "You bring her directly home at the end of the ninth inning," he paused, and then narrowed his eyes. "If the Nationals are winning, or have no chance of overtaking the lead, it might be in your best interests to bring her home in the top of the eighth inning," he amended curtly. "You are not to buy her alcohol," he added. "You are not to drink alcohol in her presence."

"Dad," Jenny started, but Jasper held up his hand and silenced her.

"If you have the slightest thought in the very back of your mind that tells you it might be a good idea to touch her below the neck or above the knee, I will know, and I will be waiting for you with an M-16."

"He doesn't have an M-16," Jenny muttered pointedly under her breath.

"I will purchase an M-16 and hunt you down with it," Jasper said without batting an eyelid.

He ran his eyes over Gibbs one more intent, suspicious time, and held up his hand.

"Your number one concern should be that I don't like you," he said flatly. "I like the Taliban more than I like you." He pointed directly at Jenny. "She already likes you. Therefore, each and every action you take, thought you have, or word you speak, should occur with the intent of convincing _me_ to like you. She is my daughter and you are a threat."

Gibbs swallowed. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

"Am I understood, Corporal?" Jasper demanded forcefully.

Gibbs nodded curtly.

"Yes, sir," he agreed confidently, holding the other man's eye admirably throughout the whole speech.

The Colonel waited a moment, weighing how trustworthy he thought the answer to be, and then nodded sharply, and giving his daughter a quick look that signaled she was free to go. With an audible sigh of relief, she clasped her hands together, squeezing her wristlet and cellphone in her palms, and lunged forward, rising up on tiptoes to kiss her father on the cheek.

"He's good, Daddy," she said very quietly. "You taught me how to look, remember?" she murmured as she pulled back.

His stubborn expression did not change, and she knew that he had been serious—when she got home, she would be sat on her ass—and perhaps she deserved it, but she refused to dwell now on how disheartening it would be. Instead, she gave him another smile, and gently nudged Gibbs as she reached to open the door.

She welcomed the chill of the September evening air and let Gibbs step out before her. She blew a kiss to Ike, and pulled the door shut behind her, leaning against it for a moment. She bit her lip and lifted her shoulders slightly, waiting for the verdict.

Gibbs shrugged at her, blowing it off.

"Figure it's flattering to be more threatening than the Taliban," he quipped.

Jenny tilted her head back and laughed, relieved—if he could take the Colonel in stride, he was worth keeping around.

* * *

He did buy her cracker jacks and—even though she protested—a baseball cap, because she'd made a dry joke that they were the same loud red as her hair. By the middle of the fifth inning, she was rationing her snack well—and had found herself to be right on two accounts: it never felt awkward or dull, and she had been smart to wear the cardigan; it was cold after the sun set on Nationals Park.

The nearby Anacostia River added a chill she hadn't expected, even with the heavy knit sweater.

She pulled her sweater a little closer around her and shifted in her seat, propping her feet up on the empty seat in front of her—the family in front of them had departed when their kids started screaming. He noticed, and tugged on a loose string on her sleeve.

"You warm enough?" he grunted.

She nodded.

"Yeah," she answered easily, despite the Goosebumps on her bare legs. She had no trouble blocking out the mild cold of the evening; she was busy focusing on a hundred other things.

Gibbs wrapped his finger around the loose yarn and broke it off, brushing it to the ground. He tilted his head, arching his eyebrows at the cardigan—it almost reminded her of Holly's look—and she grinned, waiting. He smirked.

"Think my grandmother had a sweater like this," he drawled.

She shot him a look, narrowing her eyes, utterly prepared for the tease.

"Need I remind you of the lame green vest you were wearing the other day?" she retorted primly.

He glared at her, and she lowered her nose to her shoulder, burying it in the sweater for a moment.

"Dad brought this back from a village outside of Kabul," she said, lifting her head. "A matriarch of a local tribe made it for him, when he told her about his daughter," she explained. "Her daughter had been killed by insurgents."

Gibbs ran his hands over the material again, his fingers pressing into her wrist.

"When did he go to Afghanistan?" he asked.

"He was one of the first who shipped out," Jenny answered, looking back to the game with interest. "In two-thousand and one." She paused for a moment, and then snorted. "Want to know how old I was?"

"No," Gibbs answered seriously, his lips twitching up a little.

She smiled and gathered a handful of cracker jacks, popping them in her mouth one by one. The competition was slaughtering the Nationals, and fans in the stadium were decidedly annoyed—but she was rather enjoying the game, home team's bad luck or not.

"He give you this?" Gibbs asked, looping his fingers into the thick, dark green rubber _ARMY_ bracelet she always wore.

She glanced at it and shook her head slowly. She had bought it some time to support some cause—Wounded Warriors, care packages, USO, she couldn't remember—and she simply never took it off. It was worn and it fit a little loosely, but she felt odd without it. She tilted her head at the big screen over the field and turned up her nose.

"Kiss cam," she pointed out, and turned a glare on him. "If they turn that on us, don't kiss me," she warned seriously.

He gave her a look that suggested he wouldn't have, even if she'd told him not to. He seemed put off by the very idea—but he did tilt his head at her, and glance down at her neck for a moment pointedly.

"Lips are above the neck," he pointed out.

Jenny lifted her hand and ran her fingers over her lower lip cautiously.

"Mine still are," she confirmed seriously, well aware he was thinking of her father's little warning about necks and knees and M-16s. She shrugged. "But he'll be sitting on the doorstep when we get back, so you're out of luck on an end of the date lip lock."

"He wait on the steps for every guy, or is it 'cause I'm older'n you?"

Jenny examined a cracker jack in her hand and pursed her lips.

"He's new at this," she said sympathetically. "I don't really—date."

Gibbs arched a brow.

"So I'm your first?"

She shifted tensely at the terminology, and inclined her head, acknowledging his statement—but not wanting to get into it too deeply. He smiled and continued to tug gently on her bracelet, letting his hand linger there. She flicked her cap up a little with one finger, brushing strands of loose hair behind her ears. She bit her lip to hold back a huge smile—it was a really, really good date, and she was trying not to let her imagination get ahead of her, thinking about him—

"How long have Leon and Jackie been engaged?" Jenny ventured mildly—their conversations were so erratic and unpredictable—it was never really small talk, but it wasn't gritty yet, either, and he wasn't someone she felt like she had to talk to.

Gibbs grunted.

"They're married."

"Married?"

"Four months," he said, nodding. "Got hitched when Vance got back from a short deployment in Iraq."

Jenny chewed thoughtfully.

"But they're so young," she began.

"He's my age," Gibbs said flippantly, shrugging. "Jackie's twenty. She got some sort of nursing degree before they got married. Community college," he explained. "They've been together since high school."

Jenny tilted her head back and forth—it still seemed so young. She couldn't imagine being twenty and—married. The thought was a little daunting…twenty was only three years away.

"You know Vance from boot camp, right?" she asked.

"Parris Island," he confirmed, reaching forward slowly.

His hand came to rest on her thigh, just below the hem of her shorts, and she jumped a little, startled. He lightened his touch slightly, but traced his index finger around a very impressive, dark purple bruise that shone out from beneath her shorts.

"Do I want to see the other guy?" he quipped.

She reached down and hitched up her shorts a little, showing him the whole bruise—and a tad bit more of her leg. Her hair fell over her shoulders as she leaned forward, and she smirked arrogantly.

"Girl," she said, tilting her head at him. "I lost a spar with my Krav Maga instructor," she explained wryly. "The heel of her foot can do some wicked damage—and I don't think I'd even leave a bruise on Ziva, she's made of something other-worldly."

Gibbs looked wary.

"Krav Maga?"

"Israeli—"

"Street fighting," he finished. He nodded. She raised her eyebrows, impressed with his knowledge. "Why?"

She pursed her lips.

"Because I want to walk down dark streets without fear," she answered fiercely.

He looked at her in his way for a moment, and then grinned, running his hand over her thigh. He threw his arm over her legs and pulled them towards him, against his jeans. She smiled and let him, rummaging in her cracker jacks again. He watched her—noticing they were almost gone, and nodded towards a vendor.

"You want a hot dog or something?" he asked.

She tilted her head and gave him a prim look.

"You want to watch me eat a hot dog?" she retorted brazenly.

He blinked at her, processing her jest, and then raised one eyebrow slowly, managing to look sheepish and dignified all at once. He leaned forward, nudging her jaw with his nose, and lowered his voice.

"How'm I supposed to follow your old man's rules if you keep sayin' things like that?" he demanded gruffly.

She laughed and turned her head a little. He tilted his, and his eyes went to her lips. His fingertips pressed into her legs—and she realized he was ignoring the knee rule, and she didn't mind—he wasn't doing so in an aggressive or overtly sexual way; just comfortable and—affectionate.

She met his eyes and shrugged half-heartedly, biting a cracker jack sweetly between her teeth. He flashed a charming grin at her, and she closed her lips, crunching on the snack and resting her head dramatically against his shoulder—he was warm, and she planned on dragging this evening out until the very bottom of the ninth inning.

* * *

The ninth inning ended on a pitiful note for the Nationals, but for her—it was good, and it wasn't too late to warrant rage from her father. The metro was crowded, but Gibbs managed to find her a seat—and stood in front of her watchfully the whole ride—and on the considerable walk to her street in Georgetown from the metro station, he kept his arm subtly around her shoulders, and she found a comfortable little niche in his side.

"I screwed up a little with my father," she ventured, as they turned down the dimly lit street her brownstone was located on. She frowned when she felt him look down at her warily. "I told him about you—I didn't give him much time to prepare," she admitted grudgingly.

Gibbs was quiet, digesting what she'd said.

"He pissed off at you?" he asked.

She dipped her head.

"He reacted negatively to the five year difference," she answered diplomatically. She chewed her lip and straightened up a little, glancing up at him. He reached over and flicked her hat up a little so he could see her face. "It hasn't seemed problematic to me—yet," she said cautiously.

He considered her a minute.

"You don't act seventeen," he said gruffly, without elaborating. His eyes flicked over her. "You don't _look_ seventeen," he added, almost wistfully.

She was glad he couldn't see her blush furiously at the compliment. His hand twisted in her hair a little, and he slowed his walk, so they could finish their conversation before they were in line of sight of her brownstone. He stopped abruptly, and turned to her, his hand sliding over her back, resting at the base of her neck.

"I want to see you again," he said bluntly. He lifted his shoulders, his fingers still tangling in her hair. "If I gotta kiss ass for a while," he trailed off, and shrugged. "Doesn't bother me. I'm good at it," he pointed out. "How'd you think I made corporal in six years?"

"You didn't have a girl?" Jenny guessed wryly, smirking at him. She licked her lips, and reached out to grab his shirt, tugging a little. "Don't kiss his ass. He gets enough of that at the Pentagon. Just," she thought for a moment, tilting her head. "I don't know. Accept that you're worse than the Taliban and…be a good guy," she advised.

He studied her, that sort of expressionless, unreadable look on his face again, and she felt uncertain for a moment, and bit down on her tongue. She opened her mouth, hesitated, started to forget it, and then looked up narrowly, her eyes guarded.

"You could date someone your age," she said testily. "You'd have less trouble," she pointed out.

"Sounds boring," he deadpanned, pulling on her hair a little. He shook his head. "Didn't have much luck with couple girls my age," he added, at the risk of sounding a little off-colour—he didn't want her to think he deliberately wanted to prey on a younger girl, but she'd just sort of…caught his attention, and he couldn't shake her.

It may have been sheer looks at first—she was unbelievably hot, and he sure as hell hadn't thought she was seventeen when he first saw her waxing that red convertible—but he liked her smarts and her confidence and the way she bluntly sparred with him. It was interesting, and sometimes it reminded him of—

She let her hand fall down his chest a little, resting at the center of his abdomen. Her brow furrowed.

"Is there some reason I'm worth it?" she asked—and it was an honest inquiry, rather than a trap question; he sensed that immediately, and so he didn't flinch from answering it.

"The Mustang," he retorted seriously.

She blinked, and then laughed aloud, shoving him away from her playfully and turning on her heel, making to stomp away. He reached out and caught hold of her wrist, grasping the thick sweater in his fingers and catching up to her. She squealed softly, pretending to wrestle with him, and he jumped in front of her, blocking her path. She stopped, lowering her lashes, and he cupped her jaw in his hand and lifted her chin, lowering his lips to hers—

-he thought he won a good two seconds of a kiss before the fluorescent, blinding beam of a flashlight burst over them and he instinctively yanked his hands back behind him and turned about-face, standing at ease.

Jenny pressed her hand to her lips, blinking rapidly.

Colonel Shepard continued to point his flashlight directly into Gibbs' eyes.

"Dad," growled Jenny.

"I heard laughter," he stated over her, his voice loud, "and I thought there might be too much fun going on," he growled, glaring violently at Gibbs.

Jenny groaned quietly and stepped forward, placing her hand on his calmly.

"My lips are above my neck," she reminded him tersely.

"Not in my anatomy book," he said sharply.

Truth be told, he was slightly annoyed with himself for forgetting to threaten to shoot Gibbs if he touched her lips.

"You cannot just _rearrange_ human anatomy—"

"I am a Colonel in the greatest Army in the world, if I say your lips are below your neck, they're below your damn neck," he declared firmly.

Jenny scoffed, raising her eyebrows and glaring at him.

He ignored her, and when Gibbs finally relented and lifted a hand to shield his eyes, Jasper lowered the flashlight—satisfied that he'd won some sort of standoff. He glanced down at Jenny, jerked his head curtly at Gibbs, and she understood implicitly that she was to say her goodbyes.

She stepped forward and angled her body so her dad wouldn't see her slip her fingers into Gibbs' and squeeze. She didn't say anything—just the squeeze, and the squeeze he returned, was enough to say it all.

She slipped past him, tugged her hat lower over her eyes, and crossed her arms across herself as she finished the short trek home—she knew her father wasn't following her, but she also knew it would be suicide to linger and eavesdrop on what he was saying to Gibbs.

* * *

The moment his daughter was out of earshot, Jasper went right back to shining his favorite halogen flashlight in the Marine's face, taking a certain amount of pleasure in how uncomfortable he knew it was. He stood there for a long, quiet moment, allowing tension to mount palpably, and then he cleared his throat and unclenched his jaw.

"She is going to be on lockdown for the next few days," he growled bluntly. "She needs a damn serious talk before she makes any more decisions regarding you, and you're going to respect that," he said flatly. "I trust her judgment, but it's gonna take a few days for me to get my head around this. You're gonna wait until I've decided if I'm going to allow this."

Gibbs nodded curtly, though he said nothing—the Colonel gave no indication that he was done.

"Do not call her until I have told her she's clear to call you," he warned, and narrowed his eyes sharply. "You are not to hang around at the café," he ordered. "You think you can do that, Marine?"

Gibbs nodded again, his back straight.

"Yes, sir," he said for good measure.

"Good," snapped Jasper. "I need to know I can trust you to play by my rules while she is underage and in my house."

Gibbs inclined his head respectfully, holding his own. Jasper considered him for a moment longer and then snorted skeptically, shaking his head.

"What the hell's wrong with you, son?" he asked, exasperated. "You'd save yourself a world of trouble just chasin' tail your own age," he growled—man to man, he reverted to the natural, gruff slang common to the military, and Gibbs knew he didn't even realize his daughter had just said the same thing.

"With all due respect, sir," Gibbs said firmly, steeling himself. "Somethin' tells me your daughter's worth it."

* * *

She was sitting at the kitchen table, holding the red baseball cap in her hands and smiling, when her father came in and slammed the front door. He bolted it, chucked the flashlight onto the stairs, and appeared in the doorway—an imposing, thunderous figure.

It wiped the smile off her face, and she slouched slightly, the uncertainty and guilt crashing back over her—she hated when he looked at her like that; she always felt so small and childish again—

"I have had time to calm down," he said coolly, "and I have had time to get angrier at you."

She met his eyes, and nodded, pressing her lips together.

"I don't give a damn what I told that boy this summer; you should have told me about this the moment you returned his interest," he reprimanded sharply. "I need to know who you are associating with in the event something happens to you—do you understand why?"

She took a moment to consider if the question was rhetorical, and he plowed on sharply.

"Imagine how unsettling it would be if you had turned up missing or dead, and I'd found out this—kid—had been lurking around your work."

"He's not a _rapist,_ Dad—"

"That isn't my point," said Jasper sharply. He came forward and stood behind a kitchen chair, gripping it tightly. His knuckles turned white, and he stared at Jenny until she lowered her eyes again. "Your safety is the most important thing."

She nodded, picking at the hat with her hands. He said nothing for a moment, and then he pulled out the chair and sat down, sitting straight-backed and glaring at her.

"I don't have a problem with you dating," he said tightly. "This guy—"

"Jethro," she said, cutting in carefully. "Don't be so disparaging, Dad—he's—his name's Jethro."

He considered her sternly.

"Gibbs," he said emphatically, rolling his eyes slightly—and refusing to use the ridiculous first name. "Is older than you, he's military," Jasper paused, and reached up to rub his jaw. He looked frustrated, and clenched his teeth. "He is five _years_ older than you," he groused tensely.

"I know," she said, holding her hand out. "I got it, Dad, he's older. That's why I—I started slow, with him getting to know me at the café—I didn't consider why it might bother you, okay? And I should have told you about the date, I get it—"

"I don't think you do," Jasper interrupted coarsely. "The maturity difference between sixteen and eighteen is considerable, and I was wary of that when you saw that Todd boy last year—five years is a _minefield—"_

"You and—you and Kimberly were six years apart!" Jenny burst out, annoyance written on her face.

Jasper's expression darkened and his jaw tightened. He was silent until Jenny flushed and pushed her hair back nervously, and then he swallowed hard.

"Ten years you refuse to talk about your mother—and you want to throw her in my face now?" he asked dangerously.

Jenny swallowed shakily and turned away.

"Your mother and I are not the best of examples, Jennifer," he barked curtly. "I was damn lucky her parents never sought to press charges against me—goddamnit, your mother was _pregnant_ at your age," he growled emphatically. "That's reason enough for me to forbid you to see—Gibbs!"

Jenny's hands tensed. She licked her lips, staring at the hat. Her heart slammed against her chest angrily—she hated thinking about her mother, she hated talking about her; she was sorry she'd brought her up.

"Look at me," Jasper ordered. "Look at me, Little J," he commanded, a little softer.

She raised her eyes at the childhood nickname, and met his. He leaned forward, shoving his index finger into the table for emphasis.

"Maturity levels had a lot to do with what happened with Mom—"

"Kimberly," Jenny said icily.

"Kimmy," Jasper corrected uncomfortably—he disliked that she refused to acknowledge her mother. He blinked, and went on, his face strained. "There are serious considerations to think about—your grades, college applications, how that fits in to what he wants in a relationship—you have no idea what you think you're getting into—"

"Dad," Jenny said earnestly, hitting the hat on the table. "Daddy, I am being logical about this—I'm not stupid, I know it needs to be taken slow and I know age is an issue—but you can still trust my judgment and my intelligence. You know I'm not an immature girl—you raised me better than that."

He sighed heavily, and rubbed his forehead.

"That's the rub, Jenny," he said bluntly, shrugging. "Your good judgment, your maturity, your intelligence—it doesn't change the fact that it's a _seventeen_-year-old's maturity, judgment, and smarts," he said sagely.

He leaned back, his arms still stretched out on the table, looking frustrated, worried, and a little drained—and that's when Jenny realized he was slightly nervous and scared himself, and she smiled a little. He sighed heavily, and rubbed his jaw harshly.

"Go to bed," he ordered gruffly, changing tune suddenly. He stood abruptly. He muttered something about a nice double scotch to take the edge off this, and then leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead—he never, ever allowed himself to go to bed angry at her.

"You sleep on this," he said. "Let me sleep on it," he requested. He gave her a searching, hard look. "Sunday night, we'll debrief in the study," he decided gruffly. "Fire, and Noemi's cocoa," he growled.

Jenny smiled slightly, blinking at him. She nodded slowly, and stood up, looping the hat onto her hand and slipping off to bed. Jasper shook his head and stormed into the study for his scotch, taking time to sort his head and cool down—he meant what he said about discussing it more calmly with Jenny, but first he was going to use the full power of his rank to background check Leroy Jethro Gibbs within an inch of his young life.

* * *

Despite the tension between herself and the Colonel—she curled up in bed with the smell of baseball and cracker jacks and Marine all over her, wrapped in just her beloved cardigan and nothing else beneath her soft sheets.

She was tired and not tired at the same time—physically exhausted, but her heart and mind were racing from place to place. She tried all at once to understand what her father was saying and ignore insecurities about her mother and what a disaster that Kimberly was—but she kept going back to Jethro—

-stealing her book, on the Fourth of July, reading in the Café—twice she'd had to close the shop, and it was on the second night in _Café Marseille_, when she was cleaning the espresso machine, that he'd asked her out on the official date.

She liked him and it was keeping her up and making her smile spontaneously—and she was unused to that, and she kind of—she relished it, and tentatively enjoyed it, and in the scatter-brained giddiness that accompanied the promising first date and the taste of a kiss, it was easy to forget the complications her father had outlined, or the uncertainties about sex Holly had awakened—because for the moment, she was fascinated with the idea of someone who was interested in who she was, and in pursuing her—

-she _liked_ it.

She pushed her hand through her hair and bit her lip, smiling into her pillow—she was determined to do her father proud and responsibly and maturely sleep on it—if she could just lay her uncharacteristically jumbled, butterfly thoughts to rest.

* * *

_a quick s/o to a few of my friends: Nina, for lending me her name; Holly, for the same reason [and her husband's], Mila, Nina, Holly, and Hannah for letting me (though perhaps unbeknownst to them) snatch parts of their personalities for character composition. _

_-alexandra_


	5. Tales of Tobias the Torrid

_A/N:__ aw ! i'm so glad you guys liked the first date ! i laboured over it for days, i swear ... i just didn't know what to do (it's so hard to write first dates, man, and my best idea is in LB/SF) so i'm glad that went well for y'all ... and Jenny & Gibbs ! more of a peak into the Gibbs side of life in this chapter ;)_

_Chapter Three_

_Tales of Tobias the Torrid_

* * *

Weddings were delightful events—aside from the obvious fact that they signified love and happiness and all that jazz, they yielded significant gifts in the form of badass kitchen utilities and, to a woman like Jackie Vance, that in itself was a golden bonus that almost eclipsed her happiness over the groom.

_Almost—_Leon made her happiest, but she was careful to make sure _he_ thought he was competing with her fancy new blender and Williams-Sonoma cast iron skillet. It wasn't that difficult to convince him—because she _really_ liked the skillet. It wasn't often she offered to whip up dinner for all of Leon's Marine buddies, but she'd finally gotten everything unpacked and settled in base housing, and she was itching to break in all the really nice stuff.

That—and she was secretly immensely interested in the apparent drama surrounding Gibbs' new little redhead number, and she needed an excuse to siphon information off him about the girl—which was easy to do, as when the boys got together and broke out the video games and beer, Tobias and Leon immediately started harassing Gibbs about it. The harassment was progressing a little too sporadically for her taste—the guys were usually really good about mocking Gibbs senseless about his strange tendencies—but tonight, Tobias had shown up with an ancient Nintendo console, and the re-discovery of some nineties versions of _Duck Hunting_ and _Mario World_ were almost entirely capturing their attentions.

Jackie rolled her eyes and poured a healthy amount of bacon grease into the skillet. She listened to it crackle, satisfied, and then plucked her wine glass from the counter and wandered into the living room, allowing the grease to simmer. She touched the glass to her lips and inhaled the dark red—she was four weeks shy of twenty-one, but her husband was of age and she'd hardly bat an eyelid at drinking since her father had funded an open bar at her wedding.

She walked up behind the couch just in time to see Tobias swear and kick the game controller out of Leon's hand. Swearing even louder, Leon scrambled after it, and Jackie glared at them.

"Why can't the two of you behave like good Marines?" she demanded, and gestured flamboyantly at Gibbs. "Like Jethro here. He's a model citizen."

Gibbs smirked charmingly from the couch, glancing up at her over a military pamphlet he was reading—waiting for his turn to take the winner of the current game. She gave him a wry smile and shook her head as Leon punched Tobias in the shoulder hard enough to almost knock him over.

"Yeah, well, our behavior isn't being monitored by the Pentagon at the request of the United States Army," Tobias snorted, recovering from the assault quickly.

Leon laughed at Gibbs' expense and regained control of his video game character, shooting a smug grin at his friend. He reached behind him and flicked Gibbs in the ear, affording Jackie a wink before he turned back to the game.

"If I bust Fornell's head open, ain't no one gonna kick my ass," Leon said loudly. He grinned. "Gibbs puts a toe out of line, and he can't have recess with his girl anymore."

Jackie's brow furrowed slightly, and as she was sipping her wine, Tobias spared her a glance and wiggled his eyebrows, leering.

"That Colonel background checked 'im," he said, jerking his chin at Gibbs and explaining the jokes. _"Twice,"_ he snorted, turning back to the game. "Used military _and_ CIA connections."

"You're kidding," Jackie said, her mouth falling open.

She looked down expectantly, and Gibbs arched his eyebrow and nodded slowly to confirm, his facial expression unreadable. His eyes scanned the tiny words in his pamphlet and, as per usual, he hardly reacted at all to his surroundings. Jackie licked wine off her lips and leaned down on the back of the couch, narrowing her eyes at her husband's best friend. She held her wine glass aside, opening her mouth to speak, but was cut off abruptly when Leon jumped in for her.

"He also grilled our CO," he revealed smugly, fueling the fire.

"Barkin' up the wrong tree," Tobias growled. "Gibbs is the cleanest guy in the Corps."

Still skeptical, Jackie glared down at Gibbs.

"Let me get this straight, LJ," she began matter-of-factly, her lips pursed in a business-like manner. "This guy tells you to wait for a call back after you take his daughter out, then he sticks his nose all in your business," she paused, waiting to be corrected, and then scoffed. "What's next, he makes you sign a code of conduct?"

Gibbs said nothing, but his jaw twitched slightly.

"Nah, he didn't have to _sign_ anything," Leon answered for him, snorting. "Right, Gibbs?"

Gibbs ignored him for a minute, and then tilted his head back, looking up at Jackie bluntly.

"He's just watchin' out for her," he stated candidly.

"You got your call back yet?" Jackie teased loftily.

Gibbs nodded slowly, smirking slightly.

He had expected it to take longer—but Jenny had called him exactly five days later and succinctly—and slightly warily—informed him that the Colonel wanted to speak with him. Shepard had outlined several fairly reasonable ground rules and ended the overbearing, aggressive lecture with the firm, insistent reminder that he didn't like Gibbs at all. Gibbs had then been allowed to hang around with Jen while she cleaned out her car until it got too dark for the Colonel to obstinately stare out the window at them.

Jackie shook her head, making a disapproving sound in her throat, and took a sip of wine. She retreated back into the kitchen to check on the meat in the oven and the grease on the stovetop—to which she added a hearty amount of vegetables, and a little more bacon grease.

She returned to the living room—to her previous spot to judge Gibbs—and stared him down, wine glass lingering at her lips.

"This Colonel makin' you jump through all kinds of hoops?" she asked wryly.

Gibbs shrugged.

"Curfew," he grunted vaguely. "No closed doors, can't be upstairs with 'er if he's not home, can't drink around 'er," he listed, without looking up from his pamphlet. "Routine stuff, Jackie," he said, shrugging. "Same rules I've followed before."

She turned up her nose.

"The same rules you had to follow in high school," she pointed out, clicking her tongue.

Gibbs didn't respond to her goading for a moment. He shrugged.

"Datin' was simpler in high school," he grunted under his breath.

Tobias gave a scathing snort.

"No, dating was a bitch in high school. It was easier to squeeze water from a rock than get a girl to sleep with you back then," he drawled.

Vance slapped him on the shoulder and gave him a warning look; Jackie ignored the both of them, still glaring insistently at Gibbs.

"What's the deal with this girl?" Jackie asked.

"Have you seen her?" Tobias asked loudly, whistling.

Gibbs rolled up his pamphlet casually and whacked Fornell coolly in the back of the head with it, making sure the edge of it scraped against his skin and left a paper cut. Fornell swore and shot him an annoyed look.

"Hell, Gibbs," he groused, rubbing the spot. He shrugged. "She's hot," he said bluntly.

Gibbs continued to glare at him icily. Jackie cleared her throat, shrugging, and diffused the situation.

"Yeah, I saw her. Pretty little thing," she acknowledged, shaking her head. She tapped her teeth on the wine glass, and gave a look that showed she frankly wasn't convinced. "I still don't know why the hell you want to run around with a little high schooler—can't drink, can't smoke, sure as hell isn't gonna put out—"

"How'd you know?" Leon asked over her. He turned his head sharply. "You did."

Jackie stuck her fingers in her wine and flicked it at him rudely.

"She's an upper middle class white girl with a Colonel daddy monitoring her chastity belt," she retorted smartly.

Gibbs ignored them both, refusing to touch on the personal subject—it wasn't exactly something he'd dwelt on, aside from his usual physical reaction to any attractive female, and he wasn't going to start thinking about it now. He'd barely even started seeing Jen. Instead, he shot Jackie a withering look.

"You're constantly on my back to get a girl," he pointed out.

She raised her eyes to the heavens.

"God, LJ, y'know, I didn't think you'd get it in your head to go after some jailbait little tart," she laughed. "You rack up promotions faster than a speeding bullet and spend your free time carvin' that damn birdhouse and readin' books," she mocked.

Gibbs rolled his eyes and unfurled his pamphlet. Jackie leaned forward, squinting, and Leon tilted his head back.

"Sniper training school," he told her, filling her in. He winked at her. "Gibbs is aimin' for the next nomination."

Jackie snatched it from his hands and read over it cursorily, sipping her wine. She met his eyes over her glass—as much as she mocked and teased Gibbs mercilessly, and thought him to be the absolute strangest of Leon's friends, she loved him for his weird, silent habits and his gentle heart, and she didn't want to see him tangle himself up in a hot little teenage mess.

"You got a good career ahead of you, LJ," she said smartly. She tossed the pamphlet at his chest. "You want to risk that over this girl?"

Gibbs blinked at her intently.

He shrugged.

"S'not a risk," he said abruptly.

Jackie raised her brows.

"You take a false step, you ruin your spotless record," she said flatly. "She's not eighteen."

Implicitly, she tried to tell him a physical relationship with this girl was improbably—hell, impossible—as if she thought that was all that mattered to him.

Gibbs shrugged again, refusing to be provoked to anger or annoyance. He was saving most of his energy for dealing with Jenny's father.

"Babe, leave 'im alone," Vance said vaguely, eyes on the screen again—trying to avoid Tobias's attempts to thwart him.

"You ain't gonna change his mind," Fornell added smugly, clearly back to thinking about how attractive he thought Jenny Shepard was.

Jackie glared at Gibbs, and ignored her husband. She cocked her eyebrow.

"You've got to give me somethin'," she ordered bluntly. "What's she got that gets you goin'?"

Gibbs considered her silently, his eyes on hers. He tilted his head up slightly, tightening his jaw—once, in his own high school, another girl with red hair had told him in no uncertain terms exactly what kind of woman he should marry—

'_Jethro' _Shannon had said matter-of-factly, _'You have to find a girl who won't put up with her bullshit, or yours'._

Gibbs smirked slightly, a muscle in his temple throbbing—it always made his head and his teeth and his stomach hurt to remember Shannon, and that distracted him—and he didn't answer Jackie's probing question.

She rolled her eyes at his typical mysterious quiet and downed the rest of her wine, holding up her hand gallantly.

"In the dining room, boys," she commanded. "Y'all come eat."

* * *

It was an astonishingly bright fall afternoon, and Jenny was lamenting her lack of sunglasses as she lay on her back on the seat of a picnic bench and lightly closed her eyes against the sun. The weather was perfect—there was enough bite in the air to make it chilly but not miserable, and on days like this she really enjoyed taking advantage of the patio seating the high school offered at lunch.

Jenny usually spent the second half of the lunch period soaking up the sun like this, while Holly occupied her usual perch atop the table, and Mark and Nina sat like normal humans on the benches. Holly, tackling a massive order of chili cheese fries, took a break to punch Jenny lightly in the knee.

The redhead cocked one eyebrow and grunted expectantly.

"So the Colonel really did use CIA contacts to check Gibbs?" she asked, for the umpteenth time.

Jenny nodded slowly, fluttering her eyes open and grinning.

"It's safe to say my father knows more about Gibbs than Gibbs does," she remarked smartly, tilting her head back.

Holly giggled, shaking her head and pulling two fused French fries apart.

"This dude must be really into you," she mused. "Mark, would you still stick around if my dad pulled shit like that?"

Mark shrugged and tore open a can of diet soda with his teeth, biting off the tab and spitting it out—and earning a slap of admonishment from Nina. He chugged some of it, and then looked at Holly pointedly.

"You're kind of fun," he drawled.

"Aww," Holly patronized, scrunching up her nose. She gave Nina and Jenny smug looks. "He's such a well-trained boyfriend," she bragged. She giggled and nudged Jenny again. "How did Gibbs react when he found out?"

Jenny shifted slightly, placing her arm behind her head to pillow her neck. She shrugged a little.

"You know, I'm not entirely sure," she mused. "I warned him, but he never told me what my dad said to him when he lectured him in the study."

"The infamous missing seventeen minutes," Nina said dramatically.

Mark looked around with interest and snorted.

"Wouldn't want to be him," he growled, shuddering at the thought of Jenny's father.

"Well, Jenny's father hates you," Holly chirped blithely, shrugging her shoulders—Mark nodded, vaguely accepting it.

There was no specific reason Jasper Shepard seemed to bluntly dislike Mark, but he accepted it, and the girls made light of it. Jenny personally had an inkling that her father disliked Mark because of how much he thought of himself simply because he was good at football.

"Dad almost reneged on his decision to let me see him when he found out Gibbs is about to move to an apartment at Quantico," Jenny remarked mildly.

Holly let out a shriek of amusement.

"Oh, honey, a boyfriend with an apartment, tsk tsk!" she clicked her tongue. "No, Colonel Daddy wouldn't like that!" she laughed madly.

"He's not my boyfriend," Jenny warned—they were staying warily away from definitive titles at the moment. "Yeah, he's been waiting for base housing for a while, since he's at Quantico now," she explained. "That's why I drive him up there sometimes."

"How did you convince Colonel it was cool?" Nina asked.

Jenny shrugged.

"I'm not allowed at the apartment," she said, rolling her eyes slightly—she didn't think that was going to be a feasible rule for very long, but she'd sworn to follow it, and she'd do it willingly out of respect for her father.

"Yeah, like that'll last," Holly snorted. "But other than that he's clear, eh? Nothing sketchy in Gibbs' past?" she asked wryly.

"No," Jenny answered simply. "Except how frighteningly fast he made Corporal," she added as an afterthought. "Dad didn't tell me any of it," she said, shrugging her shoulders again. "I don't want to know anything about Gibbs he hasn't told me yet, you know?"

"You're a keeper," Mark said, rolling his eyes.

Holly turned around and chucked a fry at him.

"Shut-up, baby, I like to know things," she said, well aware he was taking a shot at her nosiness.

Jenny smiled, and Nina leaned forward, pushing her hair back.

"Why's he such a good Marine?" she asked.

"Leon says it's 'cause he never had a girl to distract him," Jenny snorted. "At least, not for long—channels all that sexual frustration into performance tests," she laughed.

Holly tapped her feet excitedly.

"Ooh, yeah, how was that situation—did he pressure you?" she asked frankly, brushing food off of her jeans. She didn't seem to notice the annoyed glare Jenny shot at her and chewed blithely, waiting.

"No," Jenny said shortly, and swung her legs off the bench, using her upper body to sit up gracefully and straddle the seat. She arched an eyebrow. "It was the first date," she said crisply. "He's a gentleman."

Holly scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"He didn't try anything? Cop a feel?"

Jenny lifted her chin tensely. She chewed the inside of her cheek, choosing not to remark on any touching she and Gibbs had engaged in—she had only given Nina and Holly vague details of her date, and she wasn't about to expound now.

"He's not the type," Jenny said tersely.

"He's a guy," Holly retorted bluntly.

Jenny turned sharply to Mark.

"Did you try to fuck Holly on your first date?" she demanded frankly.

Mark stared at her, his mouth full of food, startled. He flushed slightly and then swallowed and laughed.

"Hell no," he said, and Jenny gave a satisfactory nod and turned a glare on Holly. Holly just arched an eyebrow.

"That's not a valid example," she said mathematically, tilting her head. "Mark was a virgin; virgins aren't as concerned with when they're getting laid next."

"Yes, Hol, we know; _you're_ the leading authority on how virgins act," Jenny said warily.

"I was a virgin once," Holly said dramatically.

Nina laughed, and Jenny shook her head.

"You're so obsessed with sex," she said, rolling her eyes and swinging her leg over the bench to face the table. She reached for her bottle of water and popped the top open, tilting it back.

Holly shrugged, licking her lips. She hopped off the table and swept up her lunch tray, offering to take anyone else's trash.

"It's better than being afraid of it," she said sagely.

Jenny whipped around.

"I'm not—" she started to protest, but Holly was already sauntering towards the trashcans.

Jenny turned around and blew air out through her lips, puckering them anxiously. She arched her eyebrow. Nina's lips quirked up in a look that blew Holly off for just being Holly, and Mark sat silently, finishing off his diet soda.

"When did virginity become synonymous with fear?" Jenny asked curtly.

Nina lifted one shoulder thoughtfully and nodded at Holly.

"When she got over her fear," she remarked logically.

Jenny turned her head and watched Holly bounce back towards them, all smiles. She swallowed hard, ignoring the hair in her eyes when the wind pushed it over her face, and filed Nina's words away in the back of her mind.

* * *

Jenny got up abruptly from the chemistry homework spread between her and Nina and went to the fridge, desperate for something to drink. She fetched something caffeinated and carbonated for both of them and sat back down, sliding one to Nina.

"Do you think I should be worried?" Jenny asked out of the blue.

Nina looked up from her calculator.

"About the sex thing?" she asked intuitively.

Jenny hesitated, and nodded. Nina frowned. She went back to her calculations, her fingers moving a mile a minute.

"He _is_ older than you," she said thoughtfully. She shrugged. "Has he mentioned it?"

"What?"

"I mean—has he mentioned sex? Were you lying to Holly when you said he hadn't?"

"No," Jenny said truthfully. She turned her eyes up to the ceiling pensively. "He didn't even try to grab my ass," she reflected.

Nina laughed, flushing slightly. She shook her head and wrote down the answer to her problem, looking up and tilting her head. She eyed Jenny for a moment, weighing her answer.

"I wouldn't worry about it," she said flippantly, scrunching her nose. "Holly's just…Holly," she elaborated. "She obviously likes sex, and she's got it in her head that we're living in the dark ages," Nina snorted. "And I think she's wrong; even older guys don't _expect_ sex on the first date unless, you know, they pick you up at a club specifically for that or something."

Jenny nodded, opening her soda and tipping it back. She squinted and leaned forward, picking up her pencil. She tapped the edge of the eraser against her lips—she knew Nina was firmly conservative, even if she didn't project her opinions or feelings onto her friends. Jenny remained silent, thinking her own thoughts, and Nina cleared her throat.

"Jenny?" she prompted, narrowing her eyes.

Jenny drew a leg up into her chair and shrugged.

"I'm just thinking about when he does mention it," she said.

Nina sat back and frowned.

"Don't," she said simply. "Why stress about something that isn't in the cards?" she asked bluntly. "He's presumably dated in high school. Holly acts like you're an idiot for thinking he's never had sex—"

"I don't—"

"I know," Nina continued, without batting an eyelid. "Holly's misguided thinking he's just assuming you'll sleep with him," she explained. Nina held a hand out. "Look, I'm sure he remembers that the girls _he_ dated in high school weren't experienced little sex kittens," she pointed out.

"He grew up in a small town," Jenny said. She frowned. "Those kinds of towns where all the girls have to do is have sex."

"Well," Nina said blankly. "In that case, he might have been a few girls' first," she analyzed. "It still holds that he's aware not all teenage girls are sexually active. I'm sure he's heard _no_ a few times, Jenny," Nina added. "Just tell him no."

Jenny bit down on the edge of her soda can, eyeing Nina warily—she and Nina were alike in that they'd both expressed disdain at the idea of even considering having sex while they were so weighed down with classes and college applications and navigating the damn minefield of adolescence, though Jenny was harder on Holly for her choices than Nina was. Jenny related better to Nina—but for a moment, she thought she might need Holly, if Nina was going to assume Jenny's answer would be an unequivocal no.

The problem was, Holly was too flippant about the whole concept of sex—not to mention Jenny was, at the moment, fairly, prudishly sure her answer was no—but she liked Jethro, and that was why this kept nagging her.

She rolled her eyes at herself—and to think, they'd only been out on an official date once.

Jenny leaned forward, pulling a quantum theory book closer to her.

"I hate dating," she growled—and Nina giggled, popping open her own can of soda.

* * *

Despite the concerns Holly planted, and persisted in cultivating, in her mind, Jenny had no qualms about continuing to see Gibbs—and continue she did. Tonight, he was taking her to dinner in the city—it was a mid-week date, and she was relieved to have it to look forward to; her school week had sucked so far, and her father had been working late for days.

Wednesdays were Noemi's day off, and since the Colonel was staying at the Pentagon after hours again, Jenny had obtained permission to go out with Gibbs, providing she was home by ten. So, after a rigorous work out in her Krav Maga course, she found herself unwrapping her knuckles and trying to catch her breath.

She shoved her ace bandages into her bag and swung it from her locker onto a bench in the locker rooms. She rummaged through the duffle for her small bag of travel toiletries—she was showering and getting ready here—and then retreated into the showers for a quick soap up.

Her gym was sequestered smack between the barracks and Georgetown, so she thought it fit for him to meet her here—and while she wasn't overly neurotic about her appearance, she didn't want to meet him for dinner sweaty, breathless, and in gym shorts and a sports bra—no matter how much he may enjoy the latter. Her chosen outfit was simple, comfortable, and warm; she devoted the majority of her time in the locker room to drying her hair. She applied a touch of mascara, the barest line of eye pencil, and then a swath of lipstick and a splash of perfume before gathering her things and making her way out.

Her instructor—the effortlessly gorgeous in tiny khaki cargo shorts and a tight, cropped green top, Ziva David, glanced up at her from a cabinet near her equipment and gave the young girl a slouchy smirk.

"You tell me this Marine's name, Jenny, and if he does you wrong, I will make sure his duck is cooked," she threatened dangerously, her eyes glinting.

"Goose," Jenny corrected pleasantly.

"Duck is much more appetizing," Ziva answered breezily, ignoring the idiomatic correction. She gave her pupil a pointed look.

Jenny grinned.

"You've taught me well, Ziva," she said gallantly. "I can take 'im—but I don't think I'll need to," she said fondly. She winked and turned on her heel. "Always good to have back up, though," she said gratefully.

Ziva murmured something sassily in Hebrew and Jenny shook her head, lifting her hand and waving brightly as she took the stairs down to the street exit of the gym. She looked to her left, to her right—and spotted him, leaning against a stretch of wall near the corner, hands in his pockets, cover on his head. She met him in a few strides, and he pushed off the wall, immediately reaching out for her shoulder. She thought he was going to hug her—which startled her a little; he wasn't usually overtly affectionate—but he took her duffle bag promptly and slung it over his shoulder.

She smiled, her nose wrinkling.

"Charming," she teased, inclining her head.

He rolled his eyes at her sass and leaned forward, resting his palm on her neck and pressing a kiss lightly to the corner of her mouth—she smiled, because people were looking at them, and it made her feel a little smug. He leaned back and turned on his heel, gesturing ahead of them.

"Restaurant's up there," he said gruffly, letting his arm fall from her neck to a resting place over her shoulders as they waited for the cross.

She took up her usual niche against his side—it was becoming quite comfortable, to be honest—and glanced up at him, tiling her head in the evening light.

"Anything new in the Tales of Tobias the Torrid?" she asked wryly.

Gibbs snorted.

"He's after a lady at the FBI academy," he informed her—her favorite stories of his included Tobias's absolutely boneheaded romantic escapades with him. For a man who—according to Vance and Gibbs—was ugly as sin, Fornell was apparently extremely skilled in the picking up women department.

"Ah," Jenny sighed, falling into step with him as they crossed and caught up to the sidewalk. "And is she married?"

"No," Gibbs answered, pausing for dramatic effect and then smirking. "She has a twin."

Jenny tilted her head back and laughed—it sounded about right.

He glanced down at her and cocked an eyebrow—she got the point, and reciprocated with a story of her own.

"I took down Ziva with a new move," she gloated. "There was a bloody nose involved—beautiful," she sighed crisply. She frowned. "Actually, what's beautiful is how Ziva looks with a bloody nose," she griped, remembering it with slight annoyance. She flashed a smile and pulled away, giving him a stern look. "I got a low grade on a Chem test," she revealed, cocking a brow, "which I suppose is because you were showing me how you made that birdhouse when I should have been studying."

Gibbs smirked at her arrogantly. She rolled her eyes and glanced around at the next cross—he pointed her in the correct direction of their restaurant. It was immediately on the corner of the next street, and they hardly had to wait for a table. The atmosphere was perfect—lit enough to see, but not so bright that it was tacky or cheap looking. He whipped his cover off and pulled out her seat for her, and she immediately made herself comfortable and leaned on the table.

"You going to hang that birdhouse outside your new apartment?" she asked wryly, smiling impishly—she liked to tease him about the old-manish woodworking tendency, but in reality she thought it was incredibly impressive, how talented he was at it.

"Nah," he answered abruptly. "It's for my dad," he said vaguely, sitting down.

Jenny tilted her head, but said nothing. She'd heard him mention his father a handful of times, and he always seemed to do it with a reluctance—which she related to, as she herself blatantly refused to mention her mother. She lowered her lashes thoughtfully.

"In Stillwater," she said cautiously.

He looked at her warily.

"Yeah," he answered.

She said nothing, and shrugged—and then she sat back a little and folded her arms, tilting her head so her hair fell over one shoulder.

"What else have you built?" she asked. "You told me—that old car in your garage in Pennsylvania," she remembered. "Shelves, storage boxes," she listed. She arched her eyebrows. "Ever made anything for a girl?" she asked.

His jaw twitched slightly, and she thought he looked a little reticent for a moment—sad. He inclined his head and nodded, confirming that he had. She raised her eyebrows as if to tease him but didn't push.

She parted her lips, and grinned at him.

"You should build me a boat," she suggested loftily.

"A—boat?" he snorted skeptically, arching his brow.

She shrugged, leaning forward again.

"We can sail off on it, into the sunset," she mocked lightly, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "It would be very romantic."

She thought he wasn't going to play along, but he leaned forward dead seriously.

"Why not run off in the mustang?" he asked.

She didn't miss a beat.

"Why, Corporal, the _Army_ can hunt us on land," she simpered, fluttering her lashes. "The Navy, however, doesn't answer to my father."

Gibbs picked his cover up off the table and flipped it at her, rolling his eyes. She caught it, laughing, just as the waitress arrived to take their orders.

* * *

He always saw her to the driveway—and sometimes, she seriously did think it was so he could run his hand over the hood of her car, and maybe get an eyeful of her leaning against it. Tonight—though she saw her father was home now, and she had lingered out with him by the Jefferson Monument so long that she was pushing curfew, she sat on the back of her car and he leaned against it next to her.

"Friday night?" he asked gruffly.

She winced, looking sheepish.

"Ah," she said. "It's—the first home game of the season," she told him wistfully. "Holly's first as head cheerleader, her last season opener," she listed. She tilted her head back and forth. "I'll be there—I know you've got your drills on Saturday morning," she began.

He frowned.

"Told Jackie I'd fix her dishwasher that night," he grunted apologetically.

Jenny chewed her lip and then sighed.

"My friends want to meet you," she said frankly. "You—could come to the game with me," she said slowly. "It's high school football; it's lame," she shrugged. "I can see it being a turn off."

He looked at her intently—to the point that she felt nervous, and bit her lip and glanced away for a moment before looking back with an exasperated smile that demanded he speak up. He shrugged, and shook his head.

"S'not lame, Jen," he said simply. "Used to go to 'em all the time."

"Used to," she emphasized, rolling her eyes.

He shrugged again and reached over, resting his hand on her knee and kneading her jeans with his fingers. She twitched, ticklish, and he glanced up at her with an unreadable expression.

"Your friends gotta decide if I'm all right?" he asked warily.

She smirked and leaned forward, flicking up the brim of his cover primly. She puckered her lips.

"I think you can handle a few teenage brats, considering you conquered the Colonel."

"Don't let 'im hear you say that," Gibbs said dryly, leaning closer. He eyed her pursed lips and nodded slowly. "I'll go with ya," he said. "'M goin' up to Stillwater to get my truck weekend after this. Won't see you much."

She furrowed her brow.

"Who's driving you?" she asked, taken aback—she knew he was having transportation issues because that truck was in Stillwater, and he was severely going to need it when he moved permanently to Quantico.

He shrugged carelessly.

"I'll figure it out."

She glanced back at the house.

"I'll drive you," she offered. He shot her a glare, and then straightened a little when he realized she was serious. She nodded, chewing her lip and tossing her hair. "Road trips are fun—I barely get to drive the Mustang on trips like that," she said eagerly.

"Colonel'd be okay with that?" Gibbs scoffed skeptically.

"He'll fight me, but I think I can swing it," she said earnestly. "I mean you—well," she broke off, and looked at him shyly. "He wouldn't be okay with me—staying the night."

Gibbs blinked. He cocked his eyebrow.

"It's 'bout a four hour drive," he said. "Leave early, come back that night," he said easily.

"You don't—want to stay and spend the weekend with your dad?" she asked.

"No," he answered, curtly and quickly.

She was surprised, but she dropped that subject quickly, and bit her lip. She nodded slowly, thinking about it.

"Yeah, I—let me talk to him Sunday," she said. "It's not like…you can ravish me while I'm driving or something," she joked, thinking of perhaps her father's number one concern.

Gibbs smirked dashingly.

"Nah, not while the car's movin'," he agreed in a low voice, patting the car and squeezing her just above the knee.

He leaned closer and she grinned, lowering her head to his for an end of the night kiss—his lips touched hers gently, and she pressed hers against him insistently, reaching out to press her palm against his chest.

The porch light flipped on.

Jenny sat back sullenly and rolled her eyes, while Gibbs straightened to attention and stepped back from the car. He held out his hand and helped her down politely, turning and giving a nod to her father—the culprit of the light turning on—as he stood on the porch.

"It's ten-oh-four," Colonel Shepard barked. "That's four more reasons I don't like you, Corporal."

Jenny flushed and turned to him, laughing a little and brushing a kiss to his cheek just for kicks—she knew it would annoy her father. Gibbs pushed her away gently and smirked, waving her off with a nod and a short salute; she got her ass into the house as quickly as possible, before the clock hit ten-oh-five, and thus give Jasper another reason to hate her Marine.

* * *

Like most students who enjoyed the football atmosphere but weren't diehard fans of the game, Jenny made sure they arrived after kick-off when the game was in full swing—which also meant Holly was occupied cheering on the sidelines, and Gibbs wouldn't have to deal with the full maelstrom of Holly Daniels right off the bat.

Jenny navigated through the crowd, flashing her school ID and then handing over some cash for Gibbs' entrance—he'd tried to strong arm her into letting him pay for himself, but she shrugged and refused; she had a job, and she'd invited him. She couldn't figure out if he was annoyed by it or kind of impressed; she didn't spend time dwelling on it.

"I do somethin' to piss the Colonel off?" he asked, slinging his arm over her shoulder and turning his mouth towards her ear.

Colonel Shepard had been in a mean mood when Gibbs had arrived to drive with Jenny to the game.

"Hmm?" she asked, looking around. She held her cell phone in her hand, waiting on a response text from Nina. "Oh—no," she said, laughing a little. "He doesn't like this shirt, and he assumes you're the reason I chose it so, you know, chalk up another reason he hates you."

"Taliban, right," Gibbs muttered, tilting his head and surveying her outfit—shorts, dark red, thick sweater, loose white, low-cut-ish tank top. He stared dubiously. "What's wrong with your shirt?"

Jenny gestured, setting her shoulders back and arching a little.

"It shows my stomach," she said, glancing at him through her lashes, and snickered. "Cute, acting like you didn't notice."

He grinned and tugged lightly on her hair.

"Maybe I just wanted you to show me," he retorted seriously.

She giggled and glanced at her phone, making a sound of relief when she saw a text message.

"Okay—Nina's on the bleachers," she murmured, gesturing with her phone in the direction they should head. "She's alone, so she's probably got calculus homework on her lap," she joked.

"Nina's the smart one," Gibbs said slowly, gathering the information Jenny had given and cataloguing it in his head.

Jenny nodded.

"She's Russian," Gibbs said.

Jenny pinched his arm playfully and simpered.

"Very good, Corporal," she cooed mockingly. She pressed her nose against his arm and then nodded again. "Yes. She's lived here since she was six."

"Holly's the cheerleader," Gibbs went on.

"The head cheerleader," Jenny corrected, with an affectionate roll of her eyes. "She's very aggressive." Jenny paused, trying to figure out how to put it. "She's a little wild, and she's very popular—kind of like, one of those stereotypical girls in movies? But she's such a sweetheart."

"Yeah, I know those girls," Gibbs said, thinking darkly of some he'd known in his own high school days—but they had been mean girls, and he doubted Jenny was friends with girls like that. She's your best friend," Gibbs noted. He shot her a sly look. "You one of _those_ girls?"

Jenny laughed loudly.

"God, no," she said. "I've known Holly since I was young—we went to school together when Dad and I were stationed here, and she was the first to make me feel welcome when Dad permanently took the position at the Pentagon—and then Nina I met after Freshman year, when her parents pulled her from her Catholic school."

"Why'd they do that?" Gibbs asked.

"The school got too preachy," Jenny explained, frowning as she slipped out of Gibbs' grasp and took his hand, leading him up the stairs and pausing to look around for Nina. "Nina's family is very non-religious."

She spotted Nina abruptly—the brunette was waving at her over the crowd, and Jenny tugged on Gibbs, making him follow her through the people. They moved quickly, unwilling to block the views, and Jenny hopped lightly up the steps to where Nina was sitting—with calculus homework, just as she'd guessed.

On her way up, Jenny noticed Jeanne Benoit sitting on the front row, right behind the football player's bench—and the younger girl turned and shot Jenny a venomous, mean look that Nina and Gibbs both noticed even if Jenny ignored.

"Hey, Neens," Jenny greeted, walking down the row and stepping up onto the bleacher so Gibbs could stand near Nina.

The redhead pushed her hair back nervously and gestured at Gibbs anxiously, placing her hand on her hip. She lifted her shoulders.

"Um," she began, flushing slightly—she didn't know why she felt so nervous suddenly. "This is Leroy. Jethro. Leroy Jethro," she stumbled.

"Gibbs," he said gruffly, sticking out his hand and saving her the trouble. She laughed a little, rolling her eyes, and Nina looked up, eyeing Gibbs warily before she smiled warmly and stuck her hand out to grasp his.

"Nina," she introduced firmly, shaking his hand.

To her utter surprise—and Jenny's—Gibbs answered her greeting in Russian.

Nina's face lit up and she laughed, taking her hand back.

"You speak my mother tongue!" she said, blinking at him with raised eyebrows.

He shrugged.

"Picked it up at Pendleton," he said. He'd learned it from a firearms specialist who had defected from the Soviet Union back during the Cold War—it was a critical military language, and he had a good ear for it.

Jenny reached out and pushed him playfully.

"You're full of surprises, Jethro," she laughed; sitting down next to Nina and gesturing he should take the seat next to her.

Nina closed her book and slipped it into her bag, leaning forward. She clasped her hands in her lap and smiled pleasantly at Gibbs, quietly studying him.

"We thought Jenny might keep you hidden from us," she remarked mildly. She tilted her head slightly, her dark hair falling over one shoulder. "You have very blue eyes, Gibbs," she observed, and then cut her eyes at Jenny and grinned wickedly.

"Like Sinatra," she teased.

"Shut-up," muttered Jenny, nudgingNina abruptly.

Gibbs looked at her, arching his brows, and Nina giggled, looking over at him.

"She loves Ol' Blue Eyes," she revealed. "Frank Sinatra?" she said, nodding at Gibbs primly. "She's with you for your eyes."

Gibbs shrugged smugly.

"I'm with her for her car," he retorted.

Jenny laughed, and Nina smiled, her eyes meeting Jenny's approvingly. She bit her lip and nodded encouragingly, and Jenny felt a slight bit of relief—good, good—so Nina liked him, and Nina was generally the best person to judge by if one was basing things off first impressions.

Nina straightened slightly and nodded her head.

"She keeps turning to look at you," she muttered, jerking her chin at Jeanne.

Gibbs turned his head sharply, and narrowed his eyes.

"Girl looked at you like she wanted you dead," he agreed, leaning back.

Jenny met his eyes.

"Her father is this defense contractor my dad works with for the Army—she's a spoiled little brat," she explained. "She got it into her head that I wanted the guy she's dating—well, she thinks I was with him before she dated him."

"Were you?" Gibbs asked, a flicker of jealousy in his eyes as he glanced down at the other girl.

"No," Jenny said curtly—though it wasn't necessarily true. She had never dated Tony DiNozzo but— "He's the new quarterback," she said, gesturing at the field. She cracked a smile. "He's a bit young for me," she joked.

Nina laughed—and Gibbs' eyes scanned the football bench warily. Jenny watched him for a moment and smirked, leaning over. She rested her chin on her shoulder and raised her brows pointedly, asking him silently not to act like a jealous jerk—but she sensed he was a bit possessive, and for the moment—she thought it was kind of flattering.

He looked down at her finally with those blue eyes and reached for her hand, slipping his fingers around her rubber Army bracelet and playing with it absently.

"Sinatra?" he asked in a low voice, raising his eyebrows.

Jenny lifted her chin primly.

"What can I say, I'm a class act," she drawled. "You think I was a Kanye West kind of girl?" she snorted.

"Who?" Gibbs asked.

Jenny giggled, and wrinkled her nose. She shook her head.

"Never mind," she murmured, her lips curling. "You strike me as a Johnny Cash-John Denver man," she guessed.

He looked startled at her guess—so she assumed she was correct. He shrugged.

"Yeah," he agreed, grinning. "But—Sinatra, that's good stuff," he said smoothly.

Nina grabbed Jenny's arm.

"Touchdown," she said as people around them stood up and cheered. "Oh, they're going to throw Holly up in the air—I can't watch when they do that!"

* * *

At half time, Jenny found herself hanging on the chain-link fence blocking the track from the football field. She had a plastic cup full of coke in her hand, and she chewed on the straw warily as she waited for the cheerleader's half-time performance to end.

She turned to Gibbs and gestured with her cup, pointing the straw to center field.

"Tiny one, flipping in the air—that's Holly," she said. "She moves about that fast when they're not chucking her around," she warned dryly.

Gibbs laughed, standing close to her near the fence—he'd already shot two massively annoyed, fierce glares at three guys who'd looked with interest at Jenny. She might be a little more bothered by that if she herself hadn't had to muster quite a mean look at one girl from the rival school who seemed to have taken an avid interest in Gibbs.

"Should she worry me?" Gibbs asked.

Jenny shrugged, and smirked.

"Holly?" she asked innocently.

"You survived boot camp, didn't you?" Nina piped up, deadpan. She cocked an eyebrow at Gibbs and looked up from her cell phone, frowning slightly. "I'm going to have to leave, J," she said apologetically. "Papa is throwing a fit over something," she muttered. "Mama's here to pick me up."

"You'll check with her?" Jenny asked earnestly.

"Yes; I'll let you know tomorrow night," Nina answered. She stepped away, clutching her bag at her shoulder, and smiled at Gibbs earnestly, pushing her hair back. "It was nice to meet you, Gibbs," she said sincerely. She bid him farewell in Russian, and he answered gallantly.

They both watched Nina go, and Jenny leaned over and hooked her fingers into Gibbs' collar, pulling him closer and glaring at him. Her nose almost touched his.

"Remember who you came with, hmm?" she teased, glad he seemed to get along with Nina.

"She's not my type," he assured her. "Nice, though."

"Right, right," Jenny murmured, biting on her straw, still holding him firmly close to her by his shirt. "She's got no red Mustang."

Gibbs nodded.

"Or red hair," he muttered, his eyes shifting to admire the messy waves—and Jenny turned her head, shaking it in his face fiercely and attacking him with it. He laughed gruffly, ducking away, and she snorted, draping her arms over the fence.

"You'd be okay with Nina coming to Stillwater?" she asked—she'd wanted Nina to be available to go with them, if it came down to her telling her father it wasn't just a Jenny-Jethro thing.

Gibbs shrugged, hardly bothered.

"You're doin' me the favor," he said. "Hell, I'll drag Tobias."

Jenny cackled, her eyes lighting up.

"The infamous Tobias!" she drawled. She nodded emphatically. "Do it—the circle's not complete until I meet Fornell, now that you're about to meet," Jenny paused, as thundering footsteps got louder, "Holly," she said, turning to meet the cheerleader as she bounded up.

Holly crashed gracefully—and only Holly could gracefully slam into something—against the chain link fence, leaping halfway up it and using her gymnastics skills to cling to it almost weightlessly.

She was flushed from the routine; wisps of strawberry blonde hair were escaping from her bouncy, high ponytail. Her bow was crooked, her lipstick faded, and there was glitter melting from the corners of her eyes down her cheeks—but she looked sparkling and cute as ever, and she clung to the fence in her wrinkled, skimpy cheerleading outfit, glaring brightly at Gibbs.

"You must be Jedediah," she trilled loudly, purposely annoying Jenny by getting it wrong. "I doubt I need an introduction," she added dramatically, jingling the fence at him.

"Holly," Gibbs said in his deep voice, inclining his head warily.

"Holly," hissed Jenny, lunging forward and grabbing Holly's cheerleading top.

Holly squeaked and allowed herself to be pulled forward.

"I told you," growled Jenny. "It's _Jethro_."

Holly turned sharp eyes on Gibbs and raised her eyebrows.

"Jeth-ro," she repeated obediently, flashing a smile. "Jenny just calls you Gibbs around us, you know," she informed him, and then cocked her head. "L-J-G—you know, you'd have a beautiful monogram," she chirped.

Jenny rolled her eyes and shoved Holly; Holly hopped off the chain fence and leaned against it, taking a few deep breaths to compose herself after all the excitement—she kept looking with poorly concealed interest at Gibbs, and finally she met his eyes and grinned brilliantly.

"You _are_ good looking," she said frankly. She nodded curtly. "Yeah, I bet you really rock that uniform—ooh," she sighed, batting her eyelashes. She tilted her head and turned to Jenny, running her tongue along her lower lip.

Jenny flushed, and raised her eyes to the ceiling, ignoring the smug, intrigued look Gibbs was giving her—like she needed Holly telling him the things she raved about his appearance when he wasn't around.

Holly glanced over at the field when her name was called, and then leapt back a few steps, reaching up to mess with her hair.

"Hey—hang around to the end of the game and we can grab food or somethin'," she offered, jerking her head over at the sidelines. "Mark's gonna need to be distracted; we're about to get our asses kicked," she said—more to Jenny. She looked at Gibbs. "You come, too," she ordered. "I'm not done with you," she warned. "It won't be some teen nightmare—we get stuff at the street vendors and go screw around by the World War Two memorial," she added.

Gibbs gave her a look of mild amusement, clearly overwhelmed by her, and she came closer, bending her finger in a hook like motion and narrowing her eyes—but when Holly did it, it was comical, rather than threatening.

"Yo, I'm probably your biggest worry, besides Jazz," she said frankly, flashing her teeth in her peppy smirk. "You know, I'm the devil on J's shoulder—so if you want good things to happen to you," Holly cocked her brows, "get on my good side," she bribed—and Jenny felt that nervous feeling in her stomach, worried about what Holly was insinuating—but Holly went right on, and punched Gibbs confidently in the chest. "Oh, and if you hurt her, I'll castrate you," she added, bouncing back in a run.

She blew a kiss and jogged back to her squad, leaving Jenny to groan audibly and dip her head down into her hands, hiding it from Gibbs. She gave it a moment—and then lifted her head and peeked at him, cringing slightly—and anxiously.

She couldn't help but think Holly was somehow making it her mission to convince Jenny to sleep with Gibbs—and Jenny got a stressed throb in her head and her stomach every time she thought about it.

Gibbs arched his eyebrow at her and leaned against the fence next to her, smirking. He shook his head lazily, as if to indicate Holly didn't bother him—and Jenny was struck by his ability to react the same way to every situation—with a sort of critical, analytic, silent acceptance.

She laughed and pulled her coke to her mouth, closing her lips over the straw.

Gibbs nodded his head towards Holly.

"If she's the devil," he drawled. "Who's the angel?"

Jenny laughed outright, tipping her head back.

"There's no angel," she gasped, biting her lip. "There's a six-foot-two Colonel with an M-16," she teased good-naturedly—and both the devil and the Colonel induced her to make her decisions very carefully.

* * *

_feedback appreciated! _

_-alexandra_


	6. The Stillwater Roadtrip

_A/N:__ naturally, this story has proven itself different, but i feel a character note is necessary: it's been fun/easy/hard to write because they're both so young-it's easy to create Jenny, because we have almost no backstory on her; Gibbs is a bit different, because I'm attempting to keep him the man he is but also explore how different he probably was as a young man (pre-Shannon and Kelly) and not to mention, this is in an AU world. so you've got Gibbs with much less emotional baggage, who is kind of a old-fashioned, small town dude, etc. you'll see some of that come out in this chapter...he's still gruff, reserved Gibbs, but he's more prone to connection, too._

* * *

_Chapter Four_

_The Stillwater Roadtrip_

* * *

She stood before the Colonel patiently, an unassuming and decorous expression composed strategically on her face. Having just proposed the idea of the Stillwater road trip to him, she saw fit to fall silent, stand at ease with her hands behind her back, and wait for it to sink in.

She was fairly positive he had not blinked once since she had started speaking—he'd looked up from his usual Sunday evening documents and scotch when she began with _I have a thought that incorporates Gibbs and the mustang—_which she now realized might have immediately put him off, because he might have assumed she meant the _back seat_ of the mustang—but she felt she presented the facts of what she wanted fairly well—and now there was only to wait.

The Colonel was doing a very good job of making sure she became less and less confident in his answer as he glared at her moodily. He picked up his crystal glass of scotch and tipped back the rest of it. He rubbed his jaw and leaned back, bracing one hand on the arm of his big leather chair.

A muscle in his jaw twitched slightly.

"How long is the drive?" he asked.

"Four hours," she answered quickly. "Providing there's not bad traffic—but we'll leave early, so that wouldn't be a problem."

Jasper inclined his head sternly, frowning. His eyes narrowed.

"I don't like it," he decided curtly, shaking his head. He made a noise of annoyance in his throat. "He hangs out here, I supervise. He takes you out, not much he can get away with when you've got a curfew," Jasper said. "Road trip, a day in some city I've never heard of," Jasper growled.

Jenny stepped forward earnestly.

"It's just the day," she reminded him smartly. "We aren't staying the night. It's just to pick up his truck," she explained again. "And—that means, he'll be driving the truck back. So, really we only road trip together one way," she pointed out. She hesitated, and smiled sweetly. "Gibbs—said I should remind you that he can't exactly break any ground rules while his life is in my hands," she added.

Meaning—there wasn't going to be any chance of bad behavior in the car, not when she was concentrating on driving—and her father knew her well enough to know she was a meticulous, safe driver.

"That implies that Gibbs has considered situations in which he can break ground rules," snapped Jasper dangerously.

Jenny laughed slightly, and then snapped her mouth closed.

"Daddy," she sighed, exasperated. "No—it doesn't," she said tensely, arching an eyebrow.

Jasper grumbled under his breath and rubbed his jaw again, reaching out to hold his empty scotch glass in his hand. He glared into the transparent bottom of the crystal.

"He asked you to do this?" the Colonel demanded.

Jenny shook her head.

"I offered," she corrected frankly. "He needs the truck, Dad, he can't live at Quantico without a vehicle," she told him. "This way he doesn't have to rent, or burden Jackie with it," Jenny faltered—she could tell she was losing this argument. "Daddy," she said finally, leaning forward and putting her hands on his desk. "Look—let me prove to you that you can trust me with him."

He met her eyes warily, studying her acutely, and she held his gaze, chewing on her lip.

"I understand why you want him to come over here, and why you restrict how late I'm out—but that isn't really a good gauge of my decision making or his responsibility," she suggested. "And this isn't over night, or an out of bounds request—well, I don't think it is—and you might as well let me put the mustang to good use."

The Colonel absorbed her little speech calmly—he still didn't blink, and Jenny was becoming increasingly concerned with his ocular health when it came to his ability to glare in such an unrelenting manner.

"If it makes you feel better, we'll take Nina and—"

"If you think Holly Daniels is going to make me feel better, you're delusional," Jasper interrupted in a fit of outrage.

Jenny blinked.

"I was going to say Tobias," she said calmly. "Gibbs' friend."

Jasper snorted derisively.

"Nina," he murmured. "You'n' her are good girls," he muttered to himself—and then looked up sharply. "Gibbs' friend," he scoffed. "What's his rank?"

"Private First Class," Jenny answered slowly, almost positive that was correct.

The Colonel fell silent again. He glared at her a moment longer and sighed, lowering his head and rubbing his forehead.

"I don't know if it's worse for you two to be alone, or Nina and some strange punk to be with you," he groused.

He leaned back and resumed staring at her. He cleared his throat.

"You can go," he decided gruffly, and she straightened up, smiling widely—about to thank him profusely. He held up his hand. "I want to meet _Tobias,_" he snorted derisively, "beforehand." Jasper paused, and nodded his head curtly. "You argue a good point," he conceded, almost to himself.

Jenny darted around the desk and shoved his chair back, grabbing his shoulders.

"Thank you, Daddy!" she squealed sincerely, already itching to call Gibbs and tell him. She lunged forward abruptly to hug him and he grunted at her, startled—and probably slightly annoyed with her. Nevertheless, she kissed his cheek and grinned. "You can trust me," she assured him earnestly.

He snorted and waved her away, gesturing vaguely to all the work he had to do—and when she scampered out, her phone already held to her ear, he grumbled to himself petulantly, slightly irritated that this _guy_ seemed to be making her so happy, and doubly irritated by the coy way she greeted him when she spoke to him on the phone.

* * *

Once they had crossed the bridge into Georgetown, Tobias Fornell shoved Gibbs roughly towards a brick wall and grinned, moving his eyebrows suggestively.

"Is her friend good lookin'?" he asked—continuing the harassment he'd started on the metro. He was determined to get Gibbs to describe Nina to him, and Gibbs silently and stubbornly refused.

"Fornell," growled Gibbs. "Don't."

"Don't?" repeated Fornell, scoffing in amusement. "You warnin' me off 'cause she's _young—don't,"_ he snorted mockingly. "You did!" he accused.

Gibbs shoved him back and glared at him, narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah," he agreed curtly. "Nina and Jen are good girls," he said pointedly.

Fornell smirked.

"I like good girls," he drawled.

"Nah, you like corrupting good girls," retorted Gibbs aggressively. "Don't do anything that'll piss off Colonel Shepard," he ordered.

"But Nina," Tobias savored the name smugly, "isn't the Colonel's daughter."

Gibbs shrugged—he doubted it mattered.

"Shepard won't care," he growled. "You upset Nina, that pisses off Jen—Colonel finds out, I get my ass kicked," he said simply—and he was positive that's how the course of events would run.

Fornell shrugged good-naturedly—he didn't legitimately have any interest in a half grown girl. He was much more prone to chasing older women—they were usually easily flattered, and bored enough to engage with him. He navigated the narrow Georgetown shop streets easily, tipping his hat at every other attractive woman he walked by—and Gibbs rolled his eyes, watching him a little tensely. He figured he was the least thrilled about this road trip—he liked the idea of the time with Jenny, but as the reality approached, he was tense about the reunion with his father.

He hadn't seen Jackson since he'd hightailed it out of Stillwater for boot camp, and he'd only spoken to him once or twice—both times ending in some shouting and a phone slammed back on the receiver. He wasn't sure he wanted to introduce Jenny into that—and he wasn't sure he trusted his old man to make Jen feel comfortable.

"Hey—why aren't you bringing that Charger back with you?"

"Not finished," Gibbs answered, pointing Fornell down a shortcut he knew that would take them to Jenny's brownstone faster—it was tucked in a more secluded, spacious part of Georgetown, far past the university.

"Damn," swore Fornell. "Would've killed to take it for a spin—you think your girl'd let me drive her Mustang?"

"No," Gibbs snorted bluntly smirking. "Don't call 'er my girl," he growled.

"Why?" Fornell blinked. "C'mon, Gibbs, you're a one girl kinda guy, s'not like I'm ruinin' your street cred," he joked.

"'Cause I don't know if she wants to be called that," Gibbs retorted, shoving his hand into the back of Fornell's head and flicking him harshly. Fornell swatted him off, turning on his heel and jogging forward.

"Mighty respectful," Tobias mocked in a feminine affectation. He shrugged. "You want her to be your girl, right?" he asked.

Gibbs didn't answer; instead he shoved Tobias down another lane, guiding him towards the house again.

"So, ask 'er," Fornell said bluntly. "She's a hot girl, Gibbs, she's prolly got guys her age chasin' her—and, y'know, you've got me to contend with," he said dramatically. "I'm rather charming."

Gibbs yanked him backwards by his collar and stormed ahead of him, turning around and glaring at him, nose-to-nose.

"You look twice at her, Tobias, and so help me god—"

* * *

Nina, from her perch at the window seat in Jenny's bedroom, turned slightly and arched her eyebrow.

"Gibbs is walking up the drive," she warned.

Jenny brushed one last tangle out of her hair and shook her hand through it, grabbing her cell phone and her wristlet as she stood from her vanity. She nodded to show she'd understood and snatched a leather jacket off the bed, beckoning earnestly.

"C'mon—the less time Dad spends around Tobias, the better," she warned good-naturedly.

She had met the infamous Fornell three days ago, and the next day Gibbs had dragged him over to be inspected by the Colonel—who, naturally, had already had him background checked sufficiently. Which meant he discovered the black marks on Fornell's record that came out of getting caught with officer's wives—but, apparently he didn't deem it too harmful, since Fornell was well-behaved when he met the Colonel.

That, and Jenny had certain suspicions that her father had been a bit of a Casanova when he was Gibbs' and Fornell's age.

"I cannot believe your parents agreed to this," Jenny said conversationally, glancing over her shoulder at Nina as they came down the stairs.

"They're very distracted right now," Nina said mildly. "Ivan's in trouble in school—and they know I'm never a problem," she explained. She flashed a smile. "I, for one, am still cracking up over how outraged Holly was when she found out about this."

"Ugh," Jenny groaned good-naturedly. "Stop—I'm never going to hear the end of it. I would have," she broke off, and shrugged, stopping at the edge of the stairs and turning towards the study. "I love Holly I just—couldn't handle her, mixing with Tobias—and you know all she'd do is make crude jokes and what not."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Jenny," Nina said blithely, holding up her hands. She swung open the front door comfortably and stepped out, while Jenny walked down the hall towards her father's study-he was going in to the Pentagon today, so he was up and restless.

"Hi, Gibbs," she heard Nina greet outside, and then: "I'm—hi, Tobias, I'm Nina," she introduced—though it was muffled to Jenny's ears.

"Hey, Dad," Jenny said brightly, poking her head in the study. "They guys are here."

Her father rolled his eyes at the very sentence, and by the time he'd turned around from stocking files in a filing cabinet, Gibbs had materialized next to Jenny, his hand lingering near her shoulder. He looked into the study and gave a curt nod to the Colonel.

"Mornin', sir," he greeted.

"Mornin', kiss ass," Jasper retorted in a growl.

Jenny glared at him, and he ignored her. Gibbs grinned at Jasper, hardly shaken, and turned his head to look at Jenny, lifting is eyebrows.

"Wanna get out of here?" he asked, lowering his voice.

She nodded, dipping her head closer.

"Don't _speak_ to my daughter in tones too quiet for me to hear, Corporal," Jasper barked.

"That wasn't one of my rules, sir."

Jasper glared at him viciously.

"It is now."

Gibbs nodded, composing his face solemnly.

"Yes, sir," he affirmed. He looked pointedly at Jenny. "DO YOU WANT TO GET OUT OF HERE?" he shouted.

She flushed and shoved her hands against his chest, trying to stifle a giggle at the pure annoyance on her father's face. She pushed Gibbs down the hall, giving him a half-heartedly admonishing look, and stepped into the study a moment to say goodbye.

"You do your best to be home by midnight," Jasper growled warningly. "I _will_ be waiting up."

"You don't have to," Jenny said breezily, but nodded all the same. "I'll call you when we get to Stillwater, and when we leave," she promised. "And—you'll think about—"

"Yes; I'll consider it," the Colonel interrupted tersely, giving her a sharp look. "I'll see how this goes," he added skeptically.

She had asked to be allowed to help Gibbs move into his new apartment—which constituted her setting _foot_ in the apartment—which upended the very loud declaration he'd made that she would never, ever, get within a five mile _radius_ of his apartment.

The Colonel sighed harshly and gave her a meaningful glare.

"You be careful, Jennifer," her father ordered. "Keep your eyes on the road and no—no—"

"Canoodling?" she supplied wryly, and leaned forward to polish the ribbons on his uniform with her palm. She grinned, winking at him innocently. "I'll keep my hands to myself, Daddy," she swore vaguely.

"S'not you 'm worried about," she heard him grumble stubbornly, continuing to mutter under his breath as she said goodbye again and went down the hall to meet Gibbs at the door.

"Ike's giving Tobias a hard time," Gibbs said smugly, and Jenny looked out the open front door to see her beloved dog growling threateningly at Fornell—who was inching backwards slowly, clearly concerned—but attempting not to show too much fear.

Jenny whistled commandingly and the dog turned, bounding into the house with a wagging tale and shoving himself into her legs.

"Study, Ike," she ordered, pointing him down the hall. He whined at her, but trotted off—and she called after the dog: "You take care of Daddy, General Eisenhower!"

She heard her father swear moodily at the dog as she nudged Gibbs out the door, and slammed it behind her.

* * *

The sun was out, and it was warm-ish for October, so Jenny opted to leave the top down on the convertible—she had a headband and her hair in a loose ponytail, so there was no need to worry about it whipping in her face. She drove fast enough that they were going somewhere, but not so fast that the wind roared at them—still, it was difficult to hear conversation in the back from the front, and vice versa, unless they were shouting.

Thus, Jenny was unsure if Tobias and Nina were getting along or not—but every glance in her rearview mirror afforded a picture of them in animated conversation, so she didn't worry too much. She'd heard Tobias mention chess—and if he were in anyway interested in chess, he'd probably have Nina's attention for the next millennia. She started to ask Gibbs about it, but before she could—Fornell leaned forward and rattled the headrest of his seat, smirking.

"What's it like riding bitch, Leroy?" he asked, shooting Jenny a grin. He turned and inclined his head towards Nina. "Oh—pardon me, miss," he drawled.

"I'm quite familiar with profanity, Toby," Nina said primly, and then let out a sophisticated stream of Russian that made Gibbs snort loudly in amusement and raise his eyebrows.

"What'd she say?" Fornell asked eagerly, intrigued. He nudged the back of Gibbs' shoulders. "Gibbs', c'mon," he demanded.

Gibbs ignored him, and then glanced back.

"Toby?" he quoted.

Jenny laughed aloud, her eyes on the road.

Tobias shrugged.

"Nina reckons it sounds less biblical," he said with a grin, leaning back. He slung his arms out over the back seat, stretching out comfortably, and Jenny saw him grin at Nina. She shook her head, rolling her eyes as he fell back into conversation with her—she raised her brow and looked at Gibbs.

"I think Neens may have charmed Tobias," she remarked wryly.

Gibbs snorted.

"S'long as she doesn't let him charm her," he retorted warily, glancing back tensely. "He's after one thing."

Jenny shrugged.

"He won't get it," she said bluntly. "Sex won't cross Nina's mind for a second," she said, and then laughed, keeping her voice low so they couldn't be heard in the back seat. "She's the most celibate atheist you'll ever meet."

Gibbs smirked, glancing back again. He wasn't sure—Jenny's friend seemed absorbed in whatever witty conversation she and Tobias were throwing back and forth—and it certainly seemed witty; there was a lot of laughing on Nina's part, and a lot of smirking on Fornell's. Gibbs gave him mean glare to remind him to behave and then reached out and rested his arm on the console. He slipped two fingers under the rubber Army bracelet she wore—a signature move of his, and tugged her hand towards his, holding onto the thing loosely. He wasn't a hand holder—but he always had his hand somewhere—she figured it was a possession thing, though he was never rough or cruel about it.

She smiled to herself.

"I asked Dad about helping you move in," she said warmly. "He'll come around—providing I don't come back from Stillwater with tattoos or piercings or a kid," she teased.

"No tattoo parlors in Stillwater," he said seriously.

She lifted her eyebrows high above her aviators and laughed, blowing escaped strands of hair off her lips. He gave her a stern look—he wasn't joking; Stillwater was such a wholesome little place that one had to drive to the next town over to do something as illicit as get a tattoo—he knew, because he'd taken—Shannon—to get hers.

"Hm, so definite _no_ on the tattoos or piercings," she sighed, chewing on her lip in mock thoughtfulness. "Is Stillwater the kind of place where girls end up with kids a lot?"

"Wouldn't know," Gibbs said matter-of-factly. "Can't figure out how that works," he went on blankly. "Never seen a stork around," he added as an afterthought, deadpan.

Jenny laughed outright, shaking her head.

"You're an idiot," she retorted fondly.

He shrugged a little self-importantly—he'd get her back to her father unharmed and without any additional mouths to feed; it was something he was painstakingly confident in his ability to do. He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

"Nah, didn't know a girl who had a baby," he said, startling her by revealing something unprompted about his school years. He grunted, his hand tugging on her wrist as if he was taking back his statement. "Knew one who got in some trouble over that."

Jenny frowned a little sympathetically, affording him a quick glance. He was looking down at her hand.

"Oh," she said quietly. "Yikes, and in a small town like that?" she asked, shuddering. "If there's no tattoo parlor—"

He made a noise and shook his head sharply.

"No," he said curtly. "It wasn't _that_," he corrected. Jenny faltered, and her brow furrowed—he waited a moment, and then went on. "She needed some, morning after thing," Gibbs muttered.

"Ah," Jenny remarked. She tilted her head thoughtfully, wondering what the story was behind it.

"You buy somethin' like that in Stillwater, the pastor knows in two hours," Gibbs growled.

Jenny made a derisive noise—it sounded like one of those cozy, nosy little towns from television; fascinating, sweet, and mysterious all at once. She was eager to see it—but as they got closer, she picked up on Gibbs' tenseness, though she chose not to remark on it. She looked over at him, and he glanced up sharply, checking the rearview mirror. When he noticed she was still looking—and ignoring the road rather recklessly, something clicked in his head.

"She wasn't _my_ girl," he said, rejecting that notion sharply.

He didn't want Jenny thinking he'd been mixed up in that issue; he didn't want her to develop a wary impression of him in that particular department. He saw—when her jaw relaxed slightly—that she was relieved, and he slipped his hand into hers without saying anything else. Jenny licked her lips, rubbing them together and trying to cure how chapped they were—the wind blowing all around wasn't helping.

"You took care of some girl in trouble?" she asked suddenly, her eyes straight ahead.

He looked up, caught off guard.

"Yeah," he answered bluntly, as if it were the obvious thing in the world—as if to ask _why wouldn't I_?

Jenny smiled.

"You're a good man, Jethro," she said—and he had the feeling she was talking half to herself.

He studied her profile, and she cleared her throat abruptly, lifting her chin.

"Hey, I have to stop for fuel," she said. "Nina—look up the closest exit with a Starbucks; I'm so not in the mood for cheap gas station espresso."

* * *

Had she been a girl with less self-control, Jenny might have squealed out loud when they entered the actual city of Stillwater. It was rural and old fashioned and—everything she'd imagined it to be, with its old main road lined with small shops and businesses. She followed Gibbs' gruff directions best she could—trying to ignore the awestruck stares her car was earning—and parked on the street outside a plain looking General Store. She thought it an odd place for him to stop them, but she listened, and killed the engine, leaning back and looking around eagerly.

Tobias leaped out of the car, laughing his ass off.

"Oh, this explains it," he cackled, spinning around with critical eyes and smirking. "Hell, this explains everything—this is why you're such a weird bastard, Gibbs," he snorted, gesturing around. "Jesus, wait 'til I tell Vance—ouch!"

Nina had sat herself up on the back seat of the car, and she stuck her leg out to kick Tobias wherever it hit him, silently admonishing him for being an asshole. Jenny stretched in her seat and then got out of the car gracefully, twirling her keys around her finger. She slammed the door, pushed her aviators up on her head, and looked around—fluttering her eyelashes in the sun. It seemed so—unrealistic. There were people looking at them, as if they were the most fascinating thing that had happened in a year—and it took her a moment to realize a few of them were whispering about Gibbs.

She leaned forward, arching her eyebrows at Gibbs—who was still sitting slightly stubbornly in the car.

"It's like they've seen a ghost," she remarked, her lips quirking up. "You pull some badass stunt that left 'em reeling before you got the hell out of dodge?" she asked.

He looked around tensely, a sort of angry look on his face, before shrugging and tilting his head up at her.

"Somethin' like that."

"Get out of the car, Jethro," she coaxed softly, her lashes fluttering. She reached up behind her and pulled down her hair, running a hand through the knots and shaking it out. "I'll protect you from the watchers," she hissed dramatically.

He grinned at her and hopped out, sliding his hand over the front of the car admiringly as he came around to stand next to her—he leaned over and pushed her hair away from her ear.

"Always watch the watchers," he growled pointedly.

"Hmm, good advice."

"It's a rule," he said seriously.

"Whose rule?" Jenny asked.

He wiggled his eyebrows and didn't answer, straightening up and stepping back. He looked around, and then started to walk off, and she stood, resting her hand on the front windshield of her car.

"Should I crochet these rules on a pillow?" she asked smarmily, and he turned around and shielded his eyes from the sun, beckoning her over.

She laughed and started around to meet him—Nina grabbed Tobias's shirt as he started to follow.

"We're going to check out the shops," she said, giving Tobias a warning look.

Jenny nodded—she appreciated Nina's intuitiveness, as she was fairly sure Gibbs didn't particularly want an audience for whatever conversation he was going to have with his father. She waved at them, and then made her way over to Gibbs on the front sidewalk, catching up to him and gesturing around.

"You want to buy me an ice cream soda?" she teased, referencing the fifties-esque quaintness of the old town.

He shook his head and jerked his chin at the store.

"My father's store," he said gruffly. "There's a path out behind it, leads to the house," he explained.

Jenny grinned, biting her lip. She nodded, and indicated she'd follow him in. He hooked his fingers into that bracelet again and led her along. A bell jingled lightly as they opened the door and walked in, but there was no one at the counter.

"You look around a minute," he said, releasing her. He didn't explain where he was going, but she assumed he was looking for his father—and she didn't press; she wandered over to a display shelf where rows and rows of homemade sweets were displayed.

She pressed her lips together, absorbed intently in the antiquity of the little store—the sweets were things she'd read about in books; maple syrup candy, gooey toffee bars, flavored caramels—she knew she'd have to try some of the fudge before they drove back home, and she wanted to buy some of the maple syrup candy for her dad—he always talked about how he used to wait for the first snow so he could make it when he was a little kid. She was so absorbed in the treats that she hardly noticed soft footsteps approach her, and she was startled enough to jump and gasp when a hand rested on her shoulder—but when she whirled to face the individual who'd snuck up on her, she realized he looked just as shell-shocked as she did.

Then, he met her eyes, took in her face, and the look went away—he had a round, kind face with smile lines etched into it, a cloud of thinning, white hair, and a pair of bright, clear, unmistakable blue eyes.

"Mighty sorry to startle you, missy," he said politely. "I thought you were—well, you looked like that Fielding girl," he paused, and shook his head. "No, it's just your hair, from the back," he decided gruffly. "You look nothin' like 'er in the face."

Slightly bemused, and a little shy, Jenny smiled carefully and straightened her shoulders—at which point the kindly man let go of her and extended his hand.

"'M Jackson," he said. "Jackson Gibbs—this here's my store," he explained, gesturing around. "Never seen you 'round before," he said frankly. He tilted his head. "That wouldn't be your fancy Mustang out there?"

Jenny turned her head, and then whipped back quickly, taking his hand in both of hers and nodding sweetly.

"It's mine," she confirmed. "I'm a city girl," she said with a laugh, and then inclined her head. "I'm Jenny," she said. "I'm here with Jethro."

"Leroy?" Jackson Gibbs asked, his brow furrowing with consternation. "Leroy's here?" he asked—and Jenny arched an eyebrow; it hadn't occurred to her that Gibbs might not have called ahead.

She was saved the trouble of covering his ass, though, because he appeared around the corner—a tight, annoyed look on his face.

"Dad," he said sharply, stepping up closer. "Where you been?" he asked.

"Well, I was upstairs gettin' ahead on some inventory when I heard the bell," the older Gibbs said slowly. "Came down to find this pretty young woman lookin' half-lost—Leroy, what's wrong with you? Showin' up unannounced and leavin' guests all alone in the shop," he reprimanded paternally.

"I was lookin' for you," Gibbs retorted tersely. "Thought you'd be in the storage room," he amended, stepping closer to Jenny.

She let go of Jackson's hand and stepped back, her shoulders hitting lightly against Gibbs' chest. He put a hand on her hip and pulled her a little closer—and somehow, she sensed he did it for comfort—he was staring at his father with a loaded expression, as if the two of them were having some silent conversation. Finally, Jackson Gibbs snorted abruptly and shook his head.

"'S just like you," he said shortly. "No respect," he mumbled, and Jenny bit her tongue, closing her mouth uncomfortably. Jackson gestured to her politely, giving her a sort of strained smile. "You bring a girl home to distract me from the way you left things?" he asked frankly.

Gibbs didn't answer for a long time.

"I need the truck," he said finally, his voice flat.

His fingers pressed gently into Jenny's side, and she leaned forward at the waist, smiling gently. She met Jackson Gibbs' eyes briefly and waited in the silence, searching for something to say.

"I can't be the only girl he's brought home," she said lightly, trying to force some levity into the atmosphere.

Jackson eyed her warily and then broke into a grin.

"I reckon you're not," he agreed. "You're just the first I've seen of 'im in four years," he said pointedly.

Jenny was taken aback—she'd had no idea it had been so long since Gibbs had been home. She moved back against him, her feet knocking against his, and Gibbs shifted his weight, narrowing his eyes.

"The truck," he grunted.

Jackson looked upset.

"It's still down at the Fielding's property," he said curtly. "Parked out by that old fort. Forest grown around it, most likely," he added flippantly. "That's what happens when you abandon your home."

Gibbs didn't rise to the provocation; instead he stepped forward. He jerked his head out the window, indicating Jenny's car.

"I've got a replacement for the birdhouse," he said vaguely, leaving Jenny wondering what he could mean—and the flicker of pain in Jackson's eyes only made her more curious, though she kept her mouth shut.

"Good," Jackson said firmly. "Men keep their promises," he added sharply, and then reached out to take Jenny's hand. "You go by the Fieldings'," he ordered, "and get that truck, if you have to," he said, though Jenny sensed there was something messy about the whole situation. "I'll treat this little lady to a pot of coffee and some of the award winning fudge."

"No," Gibbs said tensely. "Don't bore her—"

"You want to show up at the Fielding's with her?" Jackson retorted, blatantly gesturing to Jenny's hair. "God bless it, Leroy, I took half a glance at 'er and thought she was—"

"Dad," Gibbs interrupted harshly. He shook his head, and looked at Jenny, conflicted suddenly—his father was right; he shouldn't take Jenny to the Fieldings' home—even though the place Jackson was talking about was on a property far away from their sprawling ranch house.

There was another moment of strained silence, before Jenny turned sideways.

"I could use coffee," she said diplomatically.

"You had coffee on the drive," Gibbs growled.

"I could always use coffee," she placated, and turned away from Jackson a little, reaching to rest her palm on Gibbs' shoulder. "It's—go, Jethro," she urged, content to stay for a moment with Jackson if need be. "I promise—I'll close my eyes if he tries to show me any baby pictures."

Gibbs looked down at her hand, and he took a deep breath and held it a moment. He nodded curtly and when he met her eyes, there was something slightly more relaxed in them—and she felt a little dizzy knowing that she had that calming effect. He squeezed her fingers and narrowed his eyes.

"You meet back here for lunch," Jackson ordered.

"I've got to get her home," Gibbs protested bluntly, gesturing at Jenny. "Don't have time."

Jenny said nothing—and before she could blink, Gibbs had grunted a wary goodbye to her and was out the front door, slamming it behind him. It was her first glimpse of him behaving—somewhat unflatteringly, but rather than turn her off to him it made her a little sad; she wondered what it was that bothered him so much about this place.

Jackson sighed heavily and she turned to him, mustering a genuine smile. He returned it wearily, the sparkle in his kindly eyes dimming a little.

"He looked a little less vengeful there, for a minute," Jackson remarked. He blinked at Jenny pensively. "Maybe that's you, gettin' to him. How long've you been—around?"

Jenny inclined her head. She wasn't sure how to answer—should she count the day they'd met, and the immediate chemistry—or the fourth of July, or only count from the day after day conversations in September—or these past few weeks, when the dates had been official?

"Couple months," she settled on simply, biting her lower lip shyly. She leaned over, her eyes caught by a large picture on the wall behind the cash counter, and the name plaque beneath it. "Ah—Leroy Jethro?" she asked, pointing at the photo of a younger Jackson fishing with a jovial African American man.

Jackson seemed to snap out of his momentary melancholy and turned.

"Eyes like a hawk on you," he snorted approvingly, and then beckoned her over to show the picture—next to it, she noticed, was one of a little boy being hugged tightly by a lovely woman with short, curly auburn hair.

"Leroy Jethro Moore," Jackson said matter-of-factly, launching into an explanation of the photo. "My old partner—my boy's namesake!"

* * *

Nina was engrossed in a quaint used bookstore at the end of the block and—to her mild surprise—Tobias seemed to be enjoying himself as well, though he was sequestered in a corner of an antique comic books section.

She was absorbed in a copy of _The Idiot_—an original Russian version—when Tobias moseyed back up, checking his watch. He leaned against a bookshelf, watching her, and when she looked up with an arched eyebrow, he smirked.

"We been through every shop, almost," he drawled. "It's been, what, three hours?" he asked, snorting. "What can Gibbs' be doin' in a town like this?"

Nina shrugged.

"Catching up," she suggested. "It seems he hasn't been back in a while," she mused, closing the book and tucking it against her chest. "Let me buy this—and then we have to hit the little florist next door. They have perfect gerberas in the window—and I never see gerberas." She smiled wistfully. "My grandfather always kept them in his dacha, in Russia."

Tobias smiled at her, looking a little amused. She cut past him towards the cash register and he caught up, flashing a dazzling smile.

"Let me get it," he asked.

"No," she said simply, and grinned right back as she paid for her own novel and they left the store—only to duck into Fielding's, the little flower shop next door.

Tobias was quick to analyze which flowers Nina was admiring so intently, and looked around the shop with a sort of detachment. Nina leaned forward, inhaling the bright yellow flower in front of her, and closed her eyes.

"Tobias," she asked mildly. "Gibbs—is he good?" she inquired seriously.

"Good?"

"You're a smart guy," she retorted. "You know exactly what I'm asking."

Tobias looked at her with raised eyebrows. He came to stand next to her, and shrugged.

"Gibbs," he said bluntly. He rolled his eyes. "He's a white hat," he said simply. "Guy spends all his time workin' hard and watchin' Westerns—he's classic," he said. "Like John Wayne. Or, like Bogey."

"Bogey?" Nina said with a laugh.

"Y'know, Bogart—"

"Yeah, I know," she agreed. She shrugged her shoulders, turning back to the flowers.

Tobias cut in front of her, blocking her view. He looked at her pointedly.

"What about Jenny?" he asked and, when Nina looked taken aback, he snorted. "Women," he muttered. "None of you expect guys to care if someone might screw their buddy over."

Nina smiled a little.

"What's her game?" Fornell prodded. "She one of those girls who wants to trap a man in uniform?"

"Jenny?" Nina laughed loudly, shaking her head. "Jesus—no. Jenny's—she's going to be president or something. I've never even seen her express interest in a guy before," Nina broke off, biting her lip. "I think Jenny's the kind of girl who would be…like, the best thing that ever happened to some guy," she said nicely.

Tobias raised his eyebrows. He looked out the window.

"What d'you reckon they're doing?" he asked.

Nina cocked her head thoughtfully.

"I don't know," he said. "I don't think Gibbs wants to be here."

"He never talks about this place," Fornell said gruffly, narrowing his eyes at the street through the glass. "Doesn't get on with his old man," he added.

Nina stroked the petals of the flowers before her with interest, narrowing her eyes.

"Jenny hates her mother," she offered up blandly.

Tobias glanced at her, and then plucked three of the flowers from their stand and disappeared for a moment, returning, and presenting them to Nina with a wicked smile on his face.

"Since you wouldn't let me buy the book," he drawled.

Nina rolled her eyes and took the flowers with a polite inclination of her head.

"If I was interested in dating at all, Toby, I might entertain an interest in you," she said primly—and left him wondering if he'd just been completely shut down or—well, wondering _what_ had just happened, really.

* * *

It turned out to be pleasant, the long stretch of time she was left alone with Jackson to sip coffee at a table in the back of the store. She was apprehensive at first, wary of him because the tension between him and his son, and anxious that me might tell her things she didn't want or need to hear.

The thing was—she had told Holly that she was glad the Colonel hadn't told her a damn thing of what he'd found in Gibbs' background checks, and she meant it—she didn't want to build a relationship on inside information and covert knowledge, and because of that, she was nervous to talk with Jackson in case he told her things Gibbs wasn't ready for her to hear—but Jackson navigated the conversation in a jolly, small town way.

He told stories about his own old days, or vaguely referenced Gibbs' childhood—Leroy, he always called him Leroy—and then moved on to small talk; in the end, she found herself telling him her own stories. She liked him—he was caring, like the grandfather she'd lost when she was little; gentler than her own father—at least to her—but clearly battle born, and experienced in sadness.

Jackson had Jethro's eyes, and when he mentioned Gibb's mother, those eyes filled with pain—though he only mentioned her once, and it was to say bitterly that Gibbs had never forgiven him for letting her go.

She was wondering what was taking Jethro so long—though she wasn't exactly uncomfortable—and Jackson, she knew, thought the same thing. He had to tend to customers—and he told her to wander around the store to her heart's desire.

Unsure if she was allowed to—but prone to exploring—she ended up upstairs in the storage room. It was a roomy area with an adorable octagonal window that let light shine through. And, it wasn't the kind of storage room she was expecting. It was organized, and there were planks of wood everywhere—and a stack of books near the window, along with an old suitcase, a frayed yellow pillow, and a chipped wooden box on the windowsill.

"You up in that attic?" Jackson called up the stairs. "I'm tuckin' you some of these sweets to take home with you," he shouted fondly, bustling around. "That place up there, that's where Leroy spent all 'is time," he informed her. "Hidin' from me, whittling all that wood…" his voice trailed off, and Jenny smiled to herself, running her hand over boxes.

She went over by the window and crouched down to read the titles of the books—and noticed with amusement that they seemed oddly feminine; there were Harlequins and cheap vampire novels, and older copies of classics—_Little Women_, and _Go Ask Alice_. She doubted they were his—and she filed them away in her mind—and then she turned and picked up the little wooden chest, opening it slowly. Music started to play, and a crudely carved horse spun around slowly on a spring. The box had a crucifix necklace in it—and a purple headband, and lots of small, ripped pieces of paper.

She heard clattering downstairs, but she was too distracted—she heard Gibbs say something testily to his father.

She shuffled through the box, looking at a torn photo of two children—a boy and a girl—and a broke plastic ring. She picked up one of the torn pieces of paper.

"You say somethin' to Mrs. Fielding?" Jackson Gibbs asked gruffly downstairs.

"She wasn't home," Jethro retorted.

"You owe them, boy—least you can do is offer your condolences."

Jenny heard them growling at each other and tried to block it out—she read the curly, feminine writing on the note in the box.

_Rule# 3—Never date a lumberjack! _And then, on the back of it, she read the words: _marry someone who won't put up with your bullshit, or hers!_

Jenny smiled a little. She pushed the things back into the box and stood up, closing it tightly, and when she turned around, she jumped—Gibbs was standing right there. She opened her mouth, shocked, and suddenly feeling small—she had been snooping in his things, and judging by the look on his face—

He looked down at the box in her hands and his jaw tightened—but he didn't snap at her. He reached for it, and held it tightly in his hands, his knuckles turning white.

"I," she began. "Jethro, I wasn't prying," she said. She looked up at him, and nodded at the box. "That's—a beautiful music box," she said. "Did you-?"

He looked a little threatening for a moment, and then he glanced down, his brow furrowed, and nodded—he had made it. And maybe—it was the thing he'd made for a girl. Jenny folded her arms across herself and looked at him warily. He gave her a smile—and she thought it looked like an unbelievably sad smile.

"C'mon," he said. "Got to hang that birdhouse for Dad," he said gruffly.

* * *

"What happened to the other bird house?" Jenny asked, leaning against a tree near the shed in the Gibbs' backyard—it was a lovely little home; small and cozy, with sprawling land back behind the store.

She watched him as he went about hanging the one he'd built, his muscles flexing as he reached above him.

He grunted slightly at her question, remaining silent for a moment.

"I tore it down," he said finally. "Broke it."

Jenny blinked simply, lifting her eyes to eye the masterpiece again.

"The other one," Gibbs said roughly, "my mom made for Dad in shop class," he growled. "Back in high school."

Jenny grinned.

"Progressive," she teased a little. She licked her lip and narrowed her eyes. "What's with you and Jackson?" she asked simply. "He's—I like him."

"Nothin'," Gibbs said, hardly convincing her.

"He's hard on you," Jenny remarked. She frowned, hesitating slightly. "He can't help it," she said. "He's just—bein' a dad."

Gibbs pulled his hands down from the tree branch, hammer held loosely in his hand. There was a tense look in his eye she hadn't learned to decipher yet—she hadn't realized she was hitting a very sore spot, so she wasn't prepared when he lashed out at her.

"You want to talk about your mom, Jen?" he snapped aggressively.

She jerked backwards angrily, her eyes stinging—she hated being caught off guard by references to—

"No," she barked at him roughly—she had already implied once she never talked about her, during one of their café conversations.

He gave her a pointed look and went back to securing the birdhouse. She grit her teeth, clamping her mouth shut. She was about to let it go—just let it blow over, but then she remembered that's not the kind of person she was, and she stepped forward and glared at him fiercely.

"Don't do that to me," she growled. "I didn't—know I was hitting a sore spot. You _knew,"_ she said sharply. "You knew. Don't do that again. It was—it was mean."

She gave him a hard look—and then she slipped past him. He turned, standing there looking a little sheepish, and still a little tense.

"Jenny," he started. "Hey—where are you goin'?" he asked warily.

She turned, walking backwards, and jerked her thumb over her shoulder.

"The shed," she told him. "I want to see this car you built with your bare hands." She pushed her hair back, checking behind her to make sure she wouldn't run into anything. "Join me, when you get over yourself," she added.

He kept an eye on her as she went into the shed, irritated that she'd pushed about his problems with his father—and maybe a little annoyed that Jackson had charmed her—but his mind kept going back to that thing Shannon said about finding a girl who wouldn't put up with bullshit—

He chucked the hammer down and followed her into the shed. He stayed quiet, in case she wanted a minute to calm down, and leaned against the door, watching her survey the car. She whistled—and she must have been impressed enough to forgive him, because she looked up smugly.

"Flawless," she murmured, resting her hands on the car. She stretched out, resting her cheek on the body of it for a minute. "Great body," she teased, as he came around to watch her—she looked at him through her lashes, calling to mind their first meeting. "The car," she clarified wryly.

He smirked at her, and she lifted her brows, rising up and bracing herself against the car—her body angled over it like a supermodel posing on a NASCAR calendar. She grinned appreciatively.

"This is a car I'd totally do it in," she said, smirking.

He cocked an eyebrow mildly, almost skeptically. She grinned.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah," she teased. "Surely you noticed cars get me goin'?"

"Thought you wanted me to build you a boat."

"Boats are water cars," she said whimsically. She bit her lip and smiled at him slowly, her eyes apologizing, bridging the tense moment they'd had.

He leaned over the car; hands planted near hers, and lowered his lips to hers for a kiss. She broke away after a moment, and chewed on the inside of her cheek. She glanced up at him through her lashes.

"Who are the Fieldings?" she asked quietly.

He sighed harshly, and she thought he was going to lash out at her again. He looked at her for a long moment, and then he lowered his head.

"Old family," he said. "Rich. Oil money." He paused heavily. "I knew their daughter."

Jenny looked away quietly. She looked back astutely, choosing her words carefully.

"She died, didn't she?" she asked—she felt it instinctively.

His jaw twitched. He nodded.

Jenny didn't say anything else—she didn't ask what had happened; she sensed he wasn't ready. But a little part of her was scared—scared this Fielding girl was someone he'd loved and lost—and wasn't over.

* * *

Unmolested and safe, Jenny arrived back at the townhouse at precisely nine forty-five, and her father was grudgingly impressed enough to give her permission to drive to Quantico the next day and help Gibbs move in. She met him on base in the morning—and spent the whole day organizing things and running back to the barracks for forgotten things, or rolling her eyes and going to buy things he needed—he had so few personal items, and almost nothing to properly furnish an apartment.

It was, ultimately, a whole day spent solely with _him; _it was a day she neglected all of the homework and essays she needed to get done—she had so many half-finished college applications to attend to, and she was working a double shift tomorrow—but she pushed it all to the back of her mind, because she didn't stress about those things so much when Gibbs was distracting her.

She knew moving was a huge hassle—but she was an Army brat, and she was used to it, and in this case—it was almost fun. She found the oddest things in Gibbs' boxes of crap—it was kind of like opening his mind and looking inside of it.

"I'm going to cook you dinner," she called from the kitchen, stocking his manly food in the cabinets—she rolled her eyes at the amount of random junk; men were such erratic eaters.

He grunted from the living room and appeared in the kitchen, looking at her warily.

"You cook?" he asked.

"That surprises you?"

He snorted.

"You got offended when I asked your dad to take you out," he pointed out.

"That had much more to do with his lack of proper dowry than traditional gender roles," Jenny pointed out seriously. She flashed a grin at him, standing on her toes as she tried to reach the top shelf.

He came up behind her and lifted her, drawing a squeal. She placed the uncooked pasta boxes in her hands in the top shelf and struggled, getting her knees on the counter and then turning around and sitting on it. He smiled and placed his hands on either side of her thighs.

"You were saying?" he drawled.

"I cook," she said, leaning forward, "pasta," she said, crinkling her nose. "Chicken—I can grill a steak," she added smoothly. She leaned forward and stole a chaste kiss from him. "My grandmother taught me, and then Noemi."

He popped his eyebrows up.

"I can cook, too," he said gruffly.

"Sexy," she said, without hesitating. She grinned and bit her lip. "You always take me to dinner. I want to cook here; it would be fun," she said, and then laughed good-naturedly. "If you're okay with it being a senior meal—I think my dad would let me come over again if it was at like, four-thirty."

Gibbs laughed, and pushed away from the counter. She hopped down and roamed around, admiring the bare kitchen—and then the small, bare living area. She surveyed the bathroom and then sashayed into the bedroom—she'd forced him to buy new sheets, when she'd noticed he was trying to force the ones from his barracks onto the queen-sized bed.

She sat down on the edge, looking around. The little box from Stillwater was sitting on the dresser, and she tilted her head at it. She had thought a lot about Stillwater while she was trying to sleep last night—it seemed a weirdly intimate step in their relationship—she considered that her meeting his father had different connotation then him being required to obey and court hers.

She threw herself back on the bed and, when Gibbs marched in the doorway, turned on her side and propped her head on her arm. She parted her lips, looking at him, and then glancing around.

"I feel very grown up," she said slowly, "and very young…simultaneously," she admitted.

He snorted.

"It's an odd feeling," she confessed, her cheeks flushing.

He came into the room and sat down next to her. She straightened up, curling her legs up nearer to her and looking at him. Her hair fell over one shoulder, and it struck her in a vaguely sharp way that they were sitting on his bed—and this was exactly why her father hated the idea of him having an apartment.

He was looking at her intently, and then he cleared his throat.

"What did Dad say to you?" he asked bluntly, his tone gruff. He eyed her warily, as if he were afraid of something.

She was a little caught off guard—had that been bothering him this entire time? She considered him a moment, and then licked her lips.

"Nothing," she said honestly, her voice quiet. "He didn't—warn me off, he didn't put you down," she revealed. She hesitated for a long moment, deciding whether or not she wanted to go on. "He asked me—to keep the look out of your eyes," she admitted. "Said I'd recognize the look when I saw it."

She glanced up through her lashes and suddenly stuck her finger out, catching him in the chest with it.

"There," she murmured hoarsely. "There it is," she guessed.

It was gone the moment she pointed out, and he swallowed tensely, his eyes narrowing. She gave him a wary look, but lifted one shoulder frankly.

"I don't care what other people say about you, Jethro," she said bluntly. "I'm a good judge of character. I want to hear what you say."

He tilted his head at her, and then lay back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling.

"Don't say much," he said finally.

Jenny leaned back. She shrugged.

"If you say too much, it doesn't mean anything," she said logically.

She smiled and leaned closer. He reached up and tugged on the ends of her long hair, pulling her closer. She pressed a kiss to his lips—one that couldn't be interrupted by a porch light, or a flash light, or the Colonel shouting out of the window—and he kissed back as respectfully as ever.

She wrapped her arm around his chest, pressing a little closer, and he shifted, leaning up into her, his hand slipping into her hair. She parted her lips slightly and for a split—stunning—second, her tongue met his—and then he abruptly pulled away and tilted his head back heavily.

He cleared his throat, and shifted. She breathed out slowly and pressed her forehead into his chest.

"I should—make sure you get home," he said gruffly.

She nodded, her head spinning a little.

"Um," she murmured. "Um—yeah," she agreed.

She wasn't sure if she was spooked by the burn in her lips and stomach or excited—and she wasn't sure if she wanted to stay and explore it or run—so, she let him walk her out to the Mustang, and she was home with the Colonel by six.

* * *

_feedback appreciated! _

_-alexandra_


	7. Attila the Hun

_A/N:__ hey, y'all: i'm now officially posting from ireland ! so updates will come at weird times of day now, i suppose, since i always post before i go to bed and the times are all screwy now, for me. while i adjust. anyway - another chapter! (haha, i really like this one!)._

_Chapter Five_

_Attila the Hun_

* * *

Leon Vance was pointedly trying to ignore the glares he was receiving from his buddies—but when he ignored their glares, he had to look somewhere, and then he ended up being glared at by his wife—so it really was an unfortunate situation for him.

"I can't believe ya'll are gonna do that," growled Jackie, slamming things around in the kitchen.

"You told your wife?" Tobias growled at Vance.

"I didn't tell her," Vance hissed back defensively. "She just—have you _met_ Jackie?" he retorted—Jackie knew everything; she knew about every asinine stunt Leon or one of the boys was going to pull before they even thought about doing it.

"She gives Gibbs a hard enough time as it is," Fornell snapped under his breath—and then his face lit up with a charming smile as Jackie stormed into the living area.

"I can hear you, Tobias Fornell," she barked, folding her arms and glaring around at them. "You bet your ass I give Gibbs a hard time—and you think an idea like this would make it any better?"

"Jackie," groaned Tobias, rolling his eyes. "There's always a bonfire at Quantico for Halloween," he groused.

"Yeah," she said stubbornly. "I know—half the high schools in the area set up bonfires on the outskirts—and someone buys drinks, and they always get busted before two a.m."

"No one gets in _trouble,"_ Leon pointed out—they really didn't. Base MPs usually rolled their eyes, let everyone think they'd get away with it, and then kicked them out.

"Doesn't mean you have to be the guys who buy the alcohol," Jackie barked lividly.

Leon held up his hands.

"I'm not buyin' any goddamn alcohol," he protested, and jerked his thumb at Gibbs. "Neither's Jethro. That's all on Tobias."

Tobias shrugged carelessly.

"S'not like I'm pressurin' Gibbs' girl into something," he said shortly.

Gibbs shrugged.

"Jen wants to do the base for Halloween this year," he said gruffly. "Said she's usually on embassy row."

"She belongs on embassy row," snapped Jackie. "The girl is seventeen years old—"

"Since when are you the moral authority on behavior?" snorted Tobias, gesturing at the beer on Jackie's countertop. "You been drinkin' since you were sixteen!"

"Yeah, and I made a lot of dumbass mistakes, didn't I?" Jackie fired back. "It's not a good idea to buy alcohol for her, or for any friend she's got there—I know other guys do it, I know the younger marines are always sharin' with the babies that show up, but it doesn't have to be you," she ranted, and then whirled on Gibbs. "And I don't think you'd want to piss off that Colonel and risk your nomination for sniper school."

Gibbs looked at her warily, annoyed by the shouting—he knew Jackie was first and foremost annoyed because Leon was going to the sort of clandestine Halloween celebrations, but she also cared about Gibbs—and in a way, Tobias—and she was worried they'd get themselves into trouble. Gibbs tried to respect that—but he didn't need her mothering him.

"She wants to go, Jackie," Gibbs said abruptly. "Colonel's already agreed to it—'M not gonna let her get hurt," he tried to placate.

"You're gonna let her drink?"

He gave her an annoyed look.

"I don't order Jen around," he snapped. "She makes her own choices," he growled, setting his jaw. "I don't think she drinks—she's one that asked Tobias to get drinks, though."

Jackie turned on her heel, annoyed, and stormed back in the kitchen—slamming things around. Gibbs winced and got up, grabbing his keys off the table—damn glad he had a reason to abandon his friends while Jackie was in such a foul mood.

"Where do you think you're goin'?" Jackie demanded, darting out of the kitchen. She propped a hand on her hip. "You need to think, Jethro," she growled. "I don't want you gettin' this Colonel pissed at you."

Gibbs shook his keys at her sharply.

"I got to go," he said vaguely and then, just to make her feel a little better, he smirked at her. "Take it easy, Jackie. Shepard's comin' around," he promised truthfully—and it wasn't a lie; Jenny's father had backed off slightly since the Stillwater weekend.

"Ha," Leon snorted. "Gibbs is allowed in her bedroom now," he revealed, whistling impishly.

Jackie glared at him, and Gibbs gave her a serious look.

"With the door open," he confided smugly.

She reached out and shoved him.

"That's where you're off to, isn't it?" she growled. "Can't hit the officer's club with us—'cause you gotta babysit."

Tobias nearly fell off the couch laughing and Gibbs swatted her hand away from him, a pained expression on his face.

"Jackie," he growled. "Stop makin' that joke," he ordered, tucking his keys into his pocket and heading for the door. "You'd better get used to Jen," he added ominously, storming out and slamming the door.

Jackie spun on her heel, determined to continue tearing in to Leon and Tobias—and maybe change their minds.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded sharply.

Tobias was still choking himself laughing, so Leon sat up and answered, leaning over the couch and smirking at his wife.

"Gibbs asked Jenny to go _steady_," he mocked, shaking his head in amusement. "She said yes."

* * *

In keeping with Colonel Shepard's policy, Jenny's bedroom door was open at no less than a ninety-degree angle—though, as Holly and Nina were both over in addition to Gibbs, she probably could have closed it a little more without provoking her father's anger; it wasn't like she and Jethro were going to strip down and go at it in front of Nina and Holly.

There were schoolbooks and homework out all over the place, but the studying was lagging—Jenny's most of all—and the afternoon was comfortable. Holly had opened Jenny's window slightly and was basking in the autumn sunlight, her phone perpetually in her hand. Nina was—as usual—legitimately studying, and Jenny was stretched out on her bed.

Gibbs sat with his back against it; patiently let her play with his short, crew cut hair while her red curls fell off the bed against his shoulder. Her chemistry book was open next to her, and she was perusing it lazily.

"I'm stoked you're going to Quantico this year," Holly piped up, holding her phone above her head and making a face—presumably sending a goofy picture to Mark.

"It's about time I sowed some wild oats," Jenny answered, smiling and looking up. She pushed her hand through the hair at the nape of Gibbs' neck again, massaging him, and he tilted his head back, closing his eyes tiredly—his muscles were tense; she didn't know what he'd been doing at work all day.

"Ha—maybe by graduation I'll have you convinced to go to beach week," Holly said, sitting up straighter. "Quantico's fun though—there's always some stupid freshman who get in trouble or start fighting, but everyone else is pretty chill, and the MPs are nice when they break it up—what kind of alcohol is Tobias getting?" she asked.

She looked over suddenly.

"Wait—is your Dad home? Should we shut the door?"

"He's not, yet," Jenny said. "And I can't; just keep your voice down. He'll walk in any second, and he's silent as the grave."

"You can't shut the door, but Gibbs can be here when you're home alone?" Nina asked mildly, focused on her book.

"You guys are here," Jenny pointed out, and then nudged Gibbs. "What's Tobias getting?"

He shrugged, and glanced at Holly.

"Beer, whiskey," he guessed.

Holly nodded.

"Perfect," she said, her fingers working on her phone. "God, it's nice to know some people of age—last year, Mark had to bribe his cousin's husband to stock us, and then we almost got busted for it because his coach randomly checked the player's cars—but he'd hidden it under the spare tire," she explained.

She smacked her gum and shot a wry look at Jenny.

"What're you dressing up as—me'n'Mark are doing Barbie and Ken."

Jenny rolled her eyes—Holly and Mark always did Barbie and Ken, and Mark adamantly despised it. Holly had some way of forcing him to do it, though—and Jenny was almost positive it was a sexual _some way_.

"You'll see," Jenny said vaguely.

Holly shot a look at Gibbs rudely, as if trying to force him to tell her if he knew.

"She borrowed Gibbs' old boot camp ACUs," Nina piped up, and Jenny glared at her, affronted.

"You little brat," she growled lightly.

"Spoilers!" Holly cried, sitting up eagerly. "His ACUs—that covers too much skin, Jenny, ew!"

"I have scissors," Jenny said slyly, lifting her eyebrows. She shifted on her bed and moved her arms to Gibbs' shoulders, lowering her head a little so her forehead was next to his.

He smirked slightly, himself unaware of what she was wearing this weekend—the actual date of Halloween was Wednesday night, so they wouldn't hit Quantico until the weekend. Jenny had chosen to do Embassy row trick-or-treating with Nina on the day of—since Nina wasn't allowed to go to Quantico—and then she and Gibbs were going to a hockey game Friday night before the Halloween weekend celebrations on Saturday.

"You two should be careful," Nina warned logically, looking up.

"I'm a good drinker," Holly said breezily, waving her hand. "C'mon, Nina, you know I've never gotten in trouble for it."

"What about—"

"That was _Mark's_ fault; I wasn't even drunk," Holly interrupted. "I was just _driving_ him."

Gibbs arched an eyebrow.

"What happened?"

"Well—it was after homecoming last year, and my boyfriend was kind of trashed—we won the game—and I was driving him around to sober up a little before we snuck back to my house, and he threw his flask out the window at this abandoned car," she paused.

"It wasn't an abandoned car," Jenny supplied wryly. "It was an undercover cop."

Holly smiled blithely.

"In hindsight, it's kind of hilarious," she said brightly. "Mark's mom is lawyer. We got off fairly easy."

Jenny rolled her eyes and shook her head. Gibbs glanced at her, his lips turning up a little, and she squeezed his shoulder soothingly—meeting his eyes and assuring him silently that Holly hadn't been drinking and driving—Holly was smarter than that. Gibbs had a particularly aggressive vendetta against drunk drivers. Jenny had picked up on it when he insisted curtly that he was picking her up, taking her to Quantico, and taking her home—just in case.

"You a good drinker?" he asked.

She shrugged vaguely—she didn't really have an answer; she didn't know. She was excited to go to Quantico this weekend, but she hadn't yet decided how she was going to participate in the festivities. She lunged forward and pressed her nose softly against his cheek.

"I can tell you the chemical composition of vodka," she said, nodding her head. "Nina taught me."

"Russian water," Nina said dramatically.

The door downstairs opened, and Ike howled at the door—signaling Colonel Shepard had arrived home. Jenny glanced at the clock—she hadn't realized it was close to six; they had been home from school for hours and she'd barely started her homework.

Gibbs looked warily at the door.

"You're fine," Jenny soothed, correctly interpreting his gaze. "You were here before he got home yesterday," she reminded him.

"Yeah," muttered Gibbs. "In the kitchen," he retorted. "With Noemi here."

Jenny gestured vaguely at her two friends and grinned, looking back to her Chemistry.

"I can't get the fucking mole calculation for problem seven," Nina complained, suddenly and loudly.

Without looking up, Jenny gave her the answer—she'd had time to do the first ten Chem problems while she was ignoring a particularly redundant history lecture. Nina groaned after a moment, realizing the mistake she'd made, and a second later Colonel Shepard marched past the door.

Holly glanced over at him, raised an eyebrow, and then threw herself back in the window seat again.

"Mark talked to an LSU football scout the other day," she said mildly. "I think I'm going to apply to LSU."

"That sounds like a stupid idea," Jenny said loudly, and Holly shot her a look.

She opened her mouth to protest, but at that moment, the Colonel marched past the door again—and Ike came bounding in and tumbled right into Gibbs' lap—after licking his face profusely in greeting.

"Hey, bud," Gibbs greeted, obediently petting the dog.

Jenny giggled, and Holly pointed at the door.

"Uh," she said, indicating pointedly the way in which the Colonel kept storming past.

"Oh, yeah," Jenny said airily. "He does that."

Holly laughed and lifted her hand, cupping it around her mouth.

"Hey Jazz," she called. "The jig is up—we heard you come home," she teased. "We put away the marijuana."

After a moment of annoyed silence, Jasper Shepard walked into the room, affording Holly a mildly exasperated glare and observing the scene warily. He narrowed his eyes at how affectionate Ike was being towards Gibbs, and then narrowed his eyes to tiny slits at the way Jenny was hanging over his shoulders.

"What's going on in here?" he demanded.

"Studying," Jenny said promptly, tapping her Chemistry book.

Jasper snorted loudly, clearly unconvinced.

He looked around pointedly.

"Where is Corporal Kiss Ass's book?" he demanded.

Jenny looked up and glared good-naturedly.

"He had a PT test today for the sniper nomination," she growled. "Leave him alone."

The Colonel glared right back at her warily and then looked at the book in her hands.

"You've been here two days in a row," he growled at Gibbs. "You're takin' her out Friday and Saturday," he snapped. "Go home, Gibbs."

Gibbs started to stand up.

"Dad," Jenny protested, ignoring the delightedly amused look on Holly's face. She hit her Chemistry book again. "He's not doing any harm."

Her father ignored her, and jerked his chin towards the hall.

"Your time's up, jarhead," he said firmly. "Go. Now."

Gibbs stood up abruptly and without argument—he didn't mind being kicked out, and he'd rather listen to the Colonel than push his limits. Jenny was fixing a poisonous, annoyed look on her father, but Gibbs just grabbed his cover off the bed and took his keys from his pocket, giving a sort of salute of acquiescence to Jasper. Jenny slammed her book shut and sat up, narrowing her eyes.

"You going to make Holly leave?" she demanded. "She's not studying."

Jasper arched his eyebrows as Holly made a noise of outrage.

"Jennifer," he said pointedly. "You just threw your friend under the bus for a guy," he told her matter-of-factly—and she winced and bit her lip; she hadn't meant to, and she didn't want to be the kind of girl who did that.

She swallowed and stood up, inclining her head to accept her father's order.

"I'll walk you out," she grumbled to Gibbs.

Her father nodded curtly and went down the stairs. A few moments later, Gibbs and Jenny followed after him, with Ike at their heels. She opened the front door and leaned against it, keeping Ike back lazily with her foot.

He smirked at her.

"He doesn't bother me," he said in a low voice.

"I can hear you," Jasper shouted from the study.

Jenny rolled her eyes, and rose up on her toes a little to kiss him goodbye.

"I can also see you," Jasper yelled.

Gibbs looked sheepish, rolled his own eyes, and placed a very chaste, pointed kiss on her forehead. He lifted his hand, waved towards the study, and winked at her.

"See you Friday," he said—he figured he'd make himself scarce for two days, just for the sake of kissing ass by being absent enough for the Colonel to think he was leaving Jenny alone.

Jenny nodded and shut the door, turning and shooting a glare into the study—she swore the Colonel was grinning smugly—before she whistled to Ike and marched back upstairs to her room to apologize to Holly—and to study.

Because—she _had_ just remembered she had to work tonight—she had to close—and ignoring her homework while Gibbs was over meant she wouldn't have time to finish all of it and—annoyed with herself, she thought maybe her father was right to kick him out, since she seemed to be too caught up in him to orient her priorities.

* * *

He half-way made good on his promise to keep away from Jenny's house for a few days—on Thursday night, he stopped by briefly to wish her good luck on her Chemistry test, to the massive annoyance of Colonel Shepard. Friday evening, though, when he picked her up for the hockey game—Colonel Shepard was nowhere to be found.

"He's at NCIS," Jenny had explained, locking her front door behind her after she bid farewell to Ike. "They're questioning him about Rene—Benoit," she reminded him, mentioning the Jeanne girl who didn't like her. "He was in the absolute worst mood this morning."

Gibbs didn't push for more information—he knew that the Colonel was dealing with some sort of embezzlement case involving Naval and Army operations at the Pentagon, and he could image how pissed Shepard would be if it turned out his long-time contracting friend was involved.

He'd gotten good seats at the hockey game—and it wasn't until the second period of the game that he got over his annoyance that the baseball season was over and remembered why hockey was an acceptable sport to bring a date to: Jenny was cold. He bought her hot chocolate, and even though that helped, and considerably warmed the palms of her hands, she still snuggled up into his side and curled her legs up, cramming them into her seat.

"You're so warm," she mumbled, shoving her nose into his chest. She shivered a little and groaned in annoyance. "You're like a fleece blanket," she whined appreciatively. "I want to throw you on my bed and curl up under you."

He moved his hand, tipping her cup upwards a little because the way she was lazily holding it meant she might spill it in his lap, and he waited patiently for her to—

"Oh my _god_," she said abruptly. "I didn't mean that like it sounded."

He laughed outright, grinning at her when she peeked up at him. Her cheeks flushed—from embarrassment _and_ cold now—and he laughed at her again. She hid her face by lifting her hot chocolate to her lips and taking a long drink, focusing her eyes back on the game. She giggled—and he decided to give her a break and not tease her for it.

"You do okay on that Chemistry test?" he asked.

"No," she answered dryly. "I got a C," she admitted, cringing—and trying not to dwell on it. It was a grade she almost never saw on her papers and she'd felt like throwing up for the whole afternoon—but she was distracted from it now, and she tried not to think about it too much—or to admit why she'd done so poorly. "Don't mention it to Dad, okay?" she muttered.

She hadn't told him yet—it wasn't exactly the first C in chemistry in the past few weeks—and aside from the fact that he was likely to go ballistic and ban Jethro from her presence, she knew he had a short fuse because of the NCIS-Army-CID investigation.

Gibbs scoffed.

"Hey—I look like a tattletale?" he asked indignantly. He leaned back smugly, tugging her a little closer to him and running his hand up and down her arm. "'Sides, I think the Colonel's startin' to like me. Not gonna screw that up."

Jenny grinned, holding her hot chocolate close to her chest.

"He's a lot of bark," she mused in agreement. "I mean, his bite is fatal, but I don't think you'll get it. I think he's," she broke off and laughed, "I think he's pissed right now because he _does_ like you, and that ruins his diabolical plan to hate you."

"So what'm I now—what's next step up from Taliban?" Gibbs teased.

"Hmmm," Jenny sighed thoughtfully. "The Khmer Rouge—no, the Kremlin. Khrushchev! Now you're Nikita Khrushchev," she decided wryly. "God—my dad has this hilarious hatred of Khrushchev."

Gibbs raised his eyebrows and without looking up, she sensed the question he was asking.

"He's an old die hard capitalist—I mean he hates the Soviets, and don't try to tell him Russia isn't still secretly the USSR," she added wryly, "but he just thinks Khrushchev was this huge pansy and he just—he just goes on tirades about him," she reflected fondly. "I'll have to provoke one—I'll do it at Thanksgiving. You've got to see it."

Gibbs turned slightly away from the game—right as a collective groan of annoyance went through the crowd as the Capitols were scored on. He raised his brows a little.

"Thanksgiving?" he asked neutrally.

She nodded slowly, pressing her cup closer to her chest. The Styrofoam warmed her shirt and bled into her skin and she was able to keep herself from shivering. She licked her lips and kept her eyes on the game.

"I thought you might want to come over for Thanksgiving," she said matter-of-factly. "You might think a major holiday together is like…a commitment," she shrugged. "Don't, though. Or you can," she added, faltering. "I know…you don't want to go to Stillwater, even if you got leave," she guessed astutely. She chewed on her lip, hesitating. "And I don't want you to be alone."

He looked down at her head for a minute, tucked against his chest.

"Usually have an open invite to dinner with Leon's family," he grunted vaguely. "He and Jackie might want the year alone," he added carefully.

Jenny took a sip of her hot chocolate, smiling a little.

"Well, the invitation is open," she said warmly. "I want you to come, if you want to," she added unassumingly. "We can watch the first Christmas movie of the season after—ha, and I can drag you Black Friday shopping before you go on to base for work," she added smugly. "I've always wanted to do it once—and Nina and Holly _refuse."_

"You think you can just drag me around like your personal servant?" he growled indignantly, pulling on the ends of her hair.

She giggled.

"Yes," she retorted primly.

And he lifted his eyes to the ceiling—because she probably could.

A whistle blew in the game, and he looked up at the game clock, nudging Jenny a little.

"We leavin' at third period?" he asked.

They could stay for the whole game, but waiting until the end of the third period could mean disrespecting her curfew depending on how the game went—and he thought maybe they should play it safe.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"It's fucking freezing in here," she groused under her breath, but then shook her head. "No, let's stay. I doubt Dad will be home by eleven—we can push the curfew a little."

Gibbs tilted his head.

"You want to stay when you're freezing?" he asked skeptically—and decided he was about two of her little shivers away from going and buying her the fluffiest sweatshirt at the souvenir kiosks.

She nodded, smiling against her cup.

"You're warm, remember?" she murmured affectionately, and then smirked, a blush colouring her cheeks. "And I can't throw you on my bed, so I have to enjoy it here," she added wryly.

He leaned over and kissed the corner of her mouth, grinning a little—and he wrapped his hand around hers on the hot chocolate cup, holding it steady for her and comfortably lacing his fingers into hers.

* * *

It was past her curfew—only slightly—and they were still bumming around in the driveway—well, in his truck, which was parked on the street away from her Mustang. It hadn't been close to eleven when her townhouse had come into view, but the brownstone was dark and ominous—and instead of going in, she'd crawled in his truck and made him turn the heat on.

"You sure he's not home?" Gibbs asked, glancing tensely between her and the house as he lounged behind the wheel.

She rolled her eyes, stretched out on the seat of his truck, her back against the window that faced her front porch.

"The house is totally black," she said. "He leaves the porch light on for us—it's eleven-thirty, Jethro, he'd be out here with a chainsaw if he was home," she laughed, wriggling her feet against his thighs.

Her shoes were off and in the floorboard, and she'd taken off her jacket because it was warm enough in the car now to forgo it—he'd driven from Quantico up to Georgetown, and they'd walked to the hockey arena. He vaguely knew he shouldn't be wasting gas just running the truck on the street, but he wanted to linger, and she clearly didn't want to go inside yet.

Gibbs leaned back and sighed contently, shooting her a look. He grinned.

"You gonna tell me what you needed my ACUs for?" he asked.

She leaned forward, wrinkling her nose.

"You'll see tomorrow," she sing-songed coyly—she, with Noemi's help, had been sort of—editing—his old uniform since she'd persuaded him to give it to her last week.

"Hint," he demanded.

She fluttered her lashes.

"It's like—M*A*S*H," she said pausing, "meets—_Playboy_."

He grinned at her and she laughed, hiding her face for a moment—she knew he was really going to like her costume, and she was glad her father was scheduled to be at the Pentagon all day tomorrow so he wouldn't see it—she'd even made arrangements to get ready with Holly, just in case he showed up.

"Are you old enough for that?" he asked solemnly, and she lunged forward, punching him in the arm.

"Bastard!" she accused, laughing. "Hey—we agreed; everyone else makes those jokes. We can't make them about each other!"

He leaned back, putting his hands behind his head proudly, and she rolled her eyes at him, posed on her hands and knees on the front seat. She stopped for a moment, listening to the music he had playing, and then smiled and shook her head—it was exactly what she'd pegged him for; Johnny Cash, or some old fashioned, subtle western music.

He watched her stare at the radio—and abruptly she looked over and caught him, and smirked.

"You doing that thing where you try to decide if you like me or not?" she asked snarkily.

He shrugged, and inclined his head vaguely.

"Nah," he said. "I can see down your shirt."

She glanced down and gasped in mock outrage, realizing he could indeed see her stomach and the black bra she was wearing underneath her sweater—so she crawled forward quickly and rose up on her knees next to him, looking down with a sort of stern expression.

"Your honesty is appreciated, Corporal," she told him, and lowered her head to kiss him.

He turned slightly for a better angle and placed his hands lightly on either side of her waist, his thumbs pressing into her ribcage, and kissed her back—lightly, and with little passion or aggression. She put her hands above her head, flattening her palms against the ceiling of the truck.

His hands didn't move—and though he was a good kisser, he was slow to respond when she parted her lips slightly—and she pulled back, making a frustrated noise. He looked wary, and arched an eyebrow.

"What?" he asked. He pulled his hands off her, letting them hover. "What'd I do?"

"Nothing," she murmured, frowning. She opened her mouth, hesitated, and then frowned again. "Jethro," she said. She took a deep breath. "I want you to kiss me like you did on the Fourth of July," she informed him seriously.

He stared at her.

"What's wrong with the way I'm kissin' you now?" he growled, affronted.

"Nothing," she repeated emphatically. "I just—it's _very—polite,"_ she decided. She bit her lip—she had noticed he was very careful with his kisses, and his touches, and she appreciated that—immensely. But since she'd kissed him on his bed in the apartment—she remembered how he'd kissed her back in July, and she wanted him to do it again.

He glared at her.

"You—I want you to kiss me like you did before you knew how old I was," she elaborated, lifting her eyebrows. She moved her face closer, nudging his nose with hers. "I'll—I'll stop you if I'm not okay," she said frankly, and smiled a little, her lips brushing his. "I've had my tongue in a boy's mouth before," she admitted wryly.

He leaned back, and she pressed her lips to his again. He considered her words for a moment, letting her kiss him slowly, and then—he put his hands on her, sliding them around her waist and running them over her back—like he had in July. And—to his shock (and delight) she moved one of her legs over his lap and straddled him, her back straight, and careful not to lean against the horn on the steering wheel.

She placed her hands on his neck and he lowered his hands to her lower back, resting just above the edge of her jeans. She shifted, and he opened his mouth, moving his head forward and in a swift motion, pulling her closer and taking control of the kiss away from her. She held onto his shoulders tightly, gasping a little when his hands slipped under her shirt suddenly and moved over her ribs and up towards her chest—

She pulled back, sucking in a deep breath, and rested her forehead on his shoulder, trying to catch her breath. He paused, apprehensive, thinking he might have gone too far—he'd never done anything but kiss her, and he wasn't exactly sure how experienced she was—

Jenny shifted her hips against him and kissed him just below his ear and he closed his eyes, forced to clench his teeth and bite back a groan. He moved his knee in a jerky motion and banged it against the steering wheel console; he swore, grabbing her in surprise, and she let out a startled squeal—and he realized he'd just copped a feel at second base in possibly the _roughest_ of ways. He closed his eyes, mentally kicking himself, before he realized she was laughing.

"Jen," he said dryly, tilting his head back.

"It's okay," she gasped, shaking her head—she wouldn't look at him, and he sensed that she was embarrassed.

"I didn't mean—"

"I know," she mumbled, still laughing. "I thought you—were trying to get my bra off and you," she broke off, laughing again. "I've had worse. Holly threw a basketball at my chest once," she joked, finally lifting her head.

She bit her lip to keep from laughing again, because the mortified, annoyed look on his face was so pitiful she couldn't bear to laugh at him. She stayed firmly on his lap, leaning against his chest. His hands slid down her back, resting on her hips—safely away from her breasts.

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his, breathing in slowly.

"That was a good kiss," she said quietly.

"Yeah?"

She nodded, and bit down on her lip.

"I like the way you look at me," she said, her cheeks flushing slightly. She winced, as if she was annoyed with herself, and rolled her eyes at her cheesy comment. She hesitated, and then she nudged his nose with hers. "You—want to come upstairs?" she asked quietly.

He stared at her, taken aback and then—he didn't know why he agreed; it had to be the stupidest thing he'd ever consented to in his life—he turned off the truck with a swift nod and let her scramble off his lap and go outside. He grabbed her shoes and her jacket for her, shut the door, and followed her lead up to the house—she struggled with the lock on the door and indicated they should be quiet as she snuck him up, taking a particular route up the stairs.

He said nothing, but caught up to her at the top of the stairs and slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

"Jen," he whispered hoarsely, uncertain.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"What if he comes home?"

"You can leave in a minute," she said, turning around. She touched his face and swallowed anxiously. She shivered. "I'm cold."

"What are we doing?" he asked, a little exasperated—and a little frustrated; he tried to ignore the lustful thoughts going through his head, but she was inviting him into her bedroom, and he missed good sexual contact—he hadn't had it since Pendleton—but he knew this was stupid—

"I don't know," she mumbled, pulling him back and grasping for her closed bedroom door. "Why is this door closed?" she mumbled to herself. Her mouth felt dry. "I'm not—I don't want to have," she started, and then, when she flipped her bedroom light on and started to pull him in, she stopped dead in her tracks and gave a strangled, terrified gasp.

Gibbs stared at her—she looked like she'd seen a ghost—confused—and then he realized—

There, sitting casually at her vanity in full uniform with a large government file full of redactions in front of him, was the Colonel himself.

Gibbs almost immediately stood at attention—a reaction he couldn't necessarily control—and tried to deal with the phenomenon of his life actually flashing before his eyes.

Without looking up from his file, the Colonel snorted.

"I don't _think_ so, Jennifer," he growled coolly.

He closed the file very slowly and stood up, neatly placing her vanity stool into its nook and turning his eyes on her. She shrank back, and he stood looking at her for the longest, most intense moment of Gibbs' life—before he jerked his thumb over his shoulder and pointed sharply at her bed.

"Go to bed," he ordered firmly, no indication of what he was thinking in his eyes.

She stood stock still, and he snapped at her aggressively.

"You better be asleep by the time I count to five," Colonel growled.

Jenny bolted for her bedroom, hardly affording a second glance at Gibbs, even though her heart was racing a mile a minute. Jasper listened to her scrambling to throw herself under the covers, fully clothed, and spent the whole time glaring menacingly at Gibbs.

"You have an oh-five-hundred appointment in my study, Jennifer," the Colonel said sternly, his eyes still on Gibbs. "I'll walk ol' Jethro here out to his truck."

He strode forward, government file tucked under his arm, and slammed his hand down on Jenny's light switch before he thrust his arm in a dangerously mock friendly way around Gibbs' shoulder and led him out of the bedroom.

He shut Jenny's bedroom door quietly, and said not a word as he firmly marched Gibbs down the stairs and onto the front porch, where he pushed him towards the first step and spent another moment glaring sharply. Then—to Gibbs consternation—he laughed shortly.

"You look shit scared, boy," he mocked, and tilted his head. "This one's on her," he said neutrally, because judging by the look on Gibbs' face, Jenny had sweet-talked him into pulling this.

The Colonel narrowed his eyes and stepped close, staring at Gibbs for a long, intimidating moment.

"Son," he growled, "All I've got to say is she's seventeen, and I know every goddamn JAG lawyer in the tri-state area. The rest is up to you."

* * *

It didn't matter that oh-five-hundred was an ungodly hour to be up on a Saturday—she was wide-awake because she'd hardly slept. She was too tense—too worried about facing her father. She didn't know what she'd been thinking, trying to sneak Gibbs up to her room—she hadn't thought her father was home, but then again, she had no idea what she was planning on doing—

She was in pajamas when she made her way down the stairs and into his study; her expression was resigned and her eyes were a little red and scared. Ike trotted after her, his tail wagging lazily—he liked early mornings; it mean he got to spend more time moseying around the back yard.

The Colonel was alert and fully dressed in the study, preparing for another long day dealing with the case at hand, as well as his other work. He did not look at her as she entered; he let her stand uncertainly for a moment before he finally gestured at a chair.

"Sit," he ordered mildly.

The absence of rage in his voice made her even more apprehensive. She sat down—perched edgily on the chair—and clasped her hands in her lap, staring at him warily. She didn't know what to expect; nothing like this had ever happened before. She waited for the nuclear explosion, for him to completely lock her down in her room for the rest of her life—

He turned and placed his hands flat on his desk, looking at her calmly.

"That was your one pass," he said abruptly.

-well; she hadn't been expecting _that_.

Her mouth actually fell open.

"Close your mouth, Jennifer," he ordered immediately.

She snapped it closed, and stared at him—eyes wide.

"W—what?" she managed finally.

He shrugged, and straightened up, packing his things for work.

"You made a judgment error," he told her firmly. "It happens. Preceding this incident, you have respected my rules. It is only fair that I allow you one pass on what was one very poorly executed attempt at rebelling."

She moved her lips soundlessly, her brow furrowed.

"I—but—I was sneaking a boy up—to my room—"

He held up his hand.

"It is in your best interests not to remind me of what you were doing," he said sharply. "I am letting it go. You'd do well to drop the subject and content yourself with not doing it again."

She sat back, still in a state of shock, and watched him close his briefcase and tuck it, and his cover, under his arm. He stepped around the desk and gave her a withering look.

"I _am_ going to allow you to go to Quantico tonight," he said curtly, guessing what her silent question was. "With the expectation that you conduct yourself like the intelligent young woman you are."

She barely even heard him—she couldn't believe her luck. She let it sink in for a moment and then scrambled up, reaching out to hug him. He held her at arm's length, studying her, and then bent to kiss the crown of her head.

"Go back upstairs and get some more sleep," he ordered gruffly, and then shook his head, rolling his eyes.

He snorted derisively.

"The next time you get it in your head to launch a covert operation, try not to thunder up the stairs like Attila the Hun," he suggested.

Taken aback _again_, Jenny stood frozen in the study—until the slamming of the front door snapped her out of it.

* * *

She thought her father's general acceptance of the previous night's events might be due to his absorption in the case he was dealing with—but she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She spent the day at Holly's elegant Fairfax home getting ready to go to Quantico—making sure her costume, hair, and make-up turned out perfectly—and when Gibbs and Tobias arrived to pick them up –Mark was meeting them there—she could tell it had all come together successfully by the look on her boyfriend's face.

Holly made a purring noise in her ear.

"He is hot for that outfit, Jenny," she whispered, and then shoved Jenny towards Gibbs while she hassled Mark to hurry up.

Jenny sauntered up to Gibbs in her costume—crafted out of his old ACUs, with her eyebrows cocked smugly and her lips pursed. She put her hands on her hips playfully—noting that his idea of a costume was his usual uniform, right down to the Velcro name tag on his chest—and tossed her hair.

He looked her up and down and then snorted.

"What're you supposed to be?" he drawled, smirking.

She stuck her leg out dramatically and gestured over herself—she'd cut the ACUs into frighteningly small shorts, fashioned a flattering, low-cut crop top and vest out of the shirt and jacket, and added a pair of cute ankle boots to accentuate the outfit—which was completed with dark red lipstick and smoky eyeliner, and a plastic grenade and handgun at her belt.

"I'm G.I. Jen," she announced, grinning and stepping forward. "What do you say, Marine?" she asked.

He put his hands on her hips and pulled her close, completely taken in, totally forgetting to ask about what had happened with her father—in fact, he forgot he had decided tread more carefully—and instead, he ran his eyes over her again, a little too caught up in her.

"Oorah," he growled.

* * *

The bonfire this year was huge—Holly said—and it provided enough warmth that Jenny was no longer cold in her costume. It was like a huge tailgate—an atmosphere she was familiar with; she saw people from her school and others in the county, and young boys from the base—as well as cadets from the police academy.

She thought she'd be more nervous about the whole thing, since she hadn't really been in a situation of so little supervision and so much rambunctious behavior—but Holly made it all seem easy, and everyone else was so relaxed that she found it easy to sit in the back of Gibbs' truck with him—and Holly, and Mark, and Tobias—and even Vance and Jackie—and get into the swing of things.

Gibbs didn't say a word to her about drinking—and he refused anything, because he was responsible for driving her. She started with a beer—it was the most she'd ever done when she was with Holly at a sleepover or one of Kensi Blye's parties or an after homecoming event—but she found it was easy to finish that and experiment with more. She didn't feel pressured—but Tobias and Holly got into a competition taking shots, and convinced Jenny to try one. She made a face finishing her second one, throwing her head back and taking a deep breath—they were still laughing at her for choking on the first.

Gibbs laughed, his hand running through her hair.

"Bourbon," she said hoarsely, sliding the shot glass towards Tobias. "Burns good," she decided. "And to think, my father swears by scotch when he could be drinking that," she said.

"We have a convert!" Vance announced, leaning on the truck.

Jackie elbowed him, rolling her eyes. She had a fire poker and a marshmallow in her hands, and tiger ears on top of her head. She turned around and looked at Jenny nicely—Jackie was sweet to Jenny, but she was wary of her, too.

"You need to take it easy, hon," she said. "Those shots are going to hit you like a freight train."

Gibbs turned and looked over Jenny.

"You okay?"

"I feel fine," she said, though her eyes were bright, and her vision was a little blurry—she just felt amused and relaxed—and very tempted to stay cuddled up to Gibbs, or to run off with him nearer to the woods, maybe.

"Don't worry about Jenny," Holly laughed, bounding up from the fire. She'd chased Mark down to force him to make her s'mores. "Her dad drinks with the KGB—she's got the skills in her DNA."

"Another then?" Tobias coaxed, tipping the bottle and pouring bourbon into several shot glasses—and passing them out to whoever accepted one. "Jackie?" he offered.

"You gonna put those in sippy cups for the girls?" she retorted.

Jenny titled her head back and laughed, holding her shot in her hand. Gibbs reached out to steady her, to keep her from dropping it, and she waited for Tobias and Holly and Leon to hold theirs out for cheers before they knocked back another. She pressed her lips together tightly and swallowed—it was easier the third time.

"Here," Holly said, chucking a bottle of coke at her. "Chase it down," she suggested, and Jenny unscrewed the top without thinking—the soda fizzed and popped all over her chest, catching Gibbs as well.

She gasped and he swore, snorting at the look on her face.

He took it from her, patronizing, and corrected her mistake, wiping off the bottle with his T-shirt. Jackie was rolling her eyes and shaking her head. Gibbs handed Jenny the chaser back and leaned over, pressing his mouth against her hair.

"Take it easy," he suggested warily. He had to take her home later—and in the back of his distracted mind—distracted by her outfit, and the feel of her curled up all close to him—he remembered that he was on thin ice with the Colonel.

"I don't feel anything," she said.

"Yeah, slow down," he snorted gruffly. "It'll hit ya," he agreed.

She turned towards him, resting her head on his shoulder, and looked at him through her lashes demurely.

"Let's go make s'mores," she suggested.

* * *

She found out quickly he was damn talented at making s'mores—he had knack for getting the chocolate melted just right, and the marshmallow just appropriately brown—and he added candy corn for extra spice, which she vaguely thought she might regret later. It was getting late—she couldn't remember what her curfew was tonight, midnight?—and the alcohol was getting to her—but still in a good way, for the moment.

Gibbs looked around, holding her arm as they strolled away from the fire, closer to the edge of the clumps of people hanging out and screwing around.

"Where's Holly?" he asked warily.

"She ran off with Mark," Jenny answered vaguely, gesturing towards the wooded area. "His car's over there—they're probably having sex," she said bluntly.

Gibbs nodded—Mark had been on driving duty for Holly, so he hadn't been drinking. Another quick glance around told Gibbs Jackie and Leon were still by the truck, arguing, and Tobias had found some girls to hit on—making a fool of himself, dressed like Casanova.

Jenny turned and leaned against him; untucking the flask Tobias had given her from her belt. Gibbs smirked at it, and she shook it, laughing to herself. She sat down on a grassy knoll, and tugged on his hand until he followed suit. She sprawled out on her back and looked up at the sky, breathing in and out slowly.

"I can't believe my dad didn't kill you," she said with a laugh. "He just—let me off the hook," she giggled. She turned on her side and curled up next to him, resting her head on his shoulder, and then sighed heavily. "I was scared he'd make me stop seeing you," she murmured. She whined softly. "I wouldn't like that."

"I wouldn't either," Gibbs said, shifting towards her. He found himself wrapping his arms around her like he had back in July and forwardly tangling his legs up. She giggled and looked up at him, her head knocking a little ungracefully into his chin.

His hand travelled up her spine under the material of her costume, playing with the clasp of her bra. Her brow furrowed and she leaned in, kissing him, and he kissed her back—she tasted like whiskey and candy corn, and she was slightly more aggressive than usual with her kiss—so he pushed her onto her back and leaned over her, slipping his knee between her legs.

His hand slipped up her side.

She tilted her head back and gasped; he paused a moment, and then she swallowed hard. She clutched the collar of his uniform and pulled on him.

"Jen—"

"It's okay," she said, nodding her head. "Don't stop."

He closed his eyes in relief and kissed her again, slipping his tongue into her mouth and running his hand over her chest—over her top this time, just hesitantly and lightly. She moaned, and it had both the effect of arousing him and setting off loud alarm bells. He pulled back a little, clearing his throat.

"You're drunk," he muttered, sitting back and rubbing his head.

She sat up, and her head spun violently.

"Whoa," she said hoarsely, and reached for him, holding on. She looked over at him earnestly. She looked a little—upset. "Hey," she soothed. "I don't feel pressured."

He shrugged.

"Good," he said, glad he wasn't pushing her. "Doesn't matter. You're drunk," he said. "Wouldn't be right."

She laughed, leaning close to him. She shifted and cuddled up to him, resting her cheek against his.

"You're like something out of a fairytale," she murmured, her lips brushing his jaw.

Gibbs smiled, and put his arm around her—he didn't really care that Tobias mocked him ceaselessly for being so desperately monogamous; he liked this. He liked Jenny—he liked being around her, and its why he didn't care how many hoops he had to jump through for her father.

He moved his leg—he didn't realize it was still trapped between her legs, and she sucked in her breath, shifting back against him. It took all he had to restrain himself from giving in—but he knew it would be taking advantage of her. He swallowed hard and set his jaw—this also wasn't the right time to ask her if she'd ever—

"Jethro," she said, speaking very loudly suddenly. She leaned back, her brow furrowed. She closed her eyes. "I'm very infatuated with you," she said hoarsely.

He laughed.

"I like you too, Jen."

"I'm scared they'll deploy you," she said suddenly. She let her head fall on his shoulder, and then she lifted it again and looked at him uncertainly, her lashes moving quickly. "I—Jethro," she said warily.

"Yeah?" he asked hoarsely—she looked sick, he realized. She was paler—with a sinking feeling, he realized that she should have stopped at one or two shots—she clearly hadn't ever drunk before this.

"I've had too much alcohol," she said seriously.

He nodded, reaching up to rub his jaw.

Goddamnit—she needed to be taken home; he was going to have to take her home _now—at_ her curfew, he figured she'd be sober enough to fake saying goodnight to her father—but it was only ten o'clock right now. He could hope the Colonel was still bogged down at the Pentagon—but he doubted it. That was the problem with alcohol—it was fine, and then it hit, just like Jackie said it would, and it could take you from high to low in a split second. He was starting to realize this had been stupid—Jackie had been right—and Jenny was right, too—they were entirely sucked into a whirlwind of infatuation—

"I don't feel well," Jenny said in a small voice, curling up on the grass and laying her head in his lap.

* * *

She got angry at him in the truck because he refused to let her lay down with her head in his lap—it was dangerous for him to drive, he didn't want to risk the Colonel misinterpreting it, and for his own sanity he couldn't have her breathing that close to his groin. She snapped at him viciously and then dissolved into silence. Then, she started worrying aloud about her father. Her voice kept shaking. When Gibbs parked outside of her house, she was leaning heavily against the truck door, her brow furrowed. He sighed and looked sullenly up at the big brownstone—the lights were on.

He considered briefly taking her back to his apartment, and then taking the fall for it when the Colonel hunted him down. At least then Jenny would be sober, and _she_ wouldn't get in so much trouble. He knew he couldn't though—and he figured he'd get more points in the Colonel's eyes if he manned up and accepted that he should have thought this through. He got out of the car and came around, trying to be quiet and gentle. He opened the car door slowly and stepped up quickly so Jenny wouldn't just fall out. She moaned and jerked away from him, then opened her pretty green eyes and slouched against the seat, her eyes red and wet.

"He's going to be mad at me," she said shakily. She closed her eyes. "I hate it when he's mad at me."

"C'mon, Jenny," Gibbs coaxed tiredly, reaching in to help her. "Can you walk?"

She nodded, and she did a mediocre job of proving it to him. He had an arm tucked firmly around her waist as he walked up the drive to the front porch with her. She apparently gave up on the top step and just sat down heavily, turning and laying her head on her arms. Gibbs stared at the door for a moment, and then steeled himself and knocked twice, loudly and firmly, before he sat down next to her. He took her shoulders and coaxed her to sit up, trying to get her to be more alert.

"Jen," he said.

"I don't want to be like Kimberly," she whimpered, and then—just as Colonel Shepard opened the door, she leaned forward—Gibbs had just enough time to snatch her hair up in his hands—and she vomited over the edge of the porch.

Gibbs winced, not daring to look up at the imposing figure in the doorway.

Colonel Shepard stared at them tightly.

"Goddamnit," he swore.

* * *

It was, as far as bad evenings went, the worst Jasper Shepard had seen in a while—and it was because he felt like he failed his daughter and like she had betrayed him all at once—and it was an impossible feeling to navigate. He would, hands down, rather be back at NCIS fighting off accusations of embezzlement than tucking his half-conscious, completely intoxicated seventeen-year-old daughter into bed—or dealing with her idiot boyfriend, who was still sitting on the front step.

Shepard had ordered him to stay put—and when he was done standing over Jenny and forcing her to brush her teeth, drink some water, wash her face, and get into bed—he had time to get angrier and angrier at the situation—because never in his wildest dreams did he expect Jennifer, his smart little Jennifer, to pull two stupid, infuriating stunts in a row.

He made sure she was sleeping—and not unconscious—before he shut her in her room for the night and went back down the stairs in a militant march to deal with the Corporal sitting morosely on his porch. He jerked open the front door and slammed it loudly behind him as he stepped out.

Gibbs stood up without a word and faced him stoically. The Colonel considered him, his jaw tight, and let him get good and scared before he spoke.

"How much did she have to drink?" he asked curtly.

"A beer, sir," Gibbs answered. "Seven or eight shots of whiskey."

The Colonel swore violently.

"She weights one-ten at the most," he barked. "I know damn well it's not your job to police my daughter's actions, but you didn't think for a second to remove her from that situation?"

He didn't wait for Gibbs to answer.

"I all but turned a blind eye to last night's bullshit, and the very next day, you bring my daughter home drunk to the point of illness after an evening of doing," the Colonel reached out and sharply flicked a stain of dark red lipstick on Gibbs' neck, "of doing God knows _what_ with her!" he roared.

"I didn't disrespect your daughter, sir," Gibbs spoke up firmly.

The Colonel looked like he might physically assault Gibbs at that point—but then he took a step back and clenched his jaw. He took a very long moment to consider Gibbs, and then he pointed at the house.

"I know you didn't force alcohol down her throat," he growled. "I know she makes her own decisions, and I know it would be irrelevant for me to take the blame off of her and put it on you—but I am not stupid enough to think the little love affair you two have going on is turning her head," he barked.

Gibbs swallowed, his mouth twitching slightly. The Colonel was looking at his neck again and, instinctively, Gibbs reached up to cover the lipstick marks with his hand. That seemed to make the Colonel angrier—a pained expression crossed his face.

"You are going to go home," Jasper said sharply. "You are going to go home, and tomorrow evening, you are going to report here to be briefed on my decisions regarding the two of you," he explained. He paused, perhaps to see if Gibbs would fight him.

Gibbs was unsure if he was expected to or not—he just met the Colonel's eyes silently, though a little defiantly.

"She is moving way too fast," the Colonel said, "and you don't seem too concerned watching your step."

* * *

Sunday morning was brutal—brutal for Jenny, because her father kicked open her door and set off an alarm at full volume to wake her up—and it scared her, and hurt like hell, and she couldn't remember at all what had happened; it was brutal for Jasper, because he knew the fight that was coming—and it was brutal for Gibbs, because he'd stubbornly and uncomfortably slept on the Shepard's front porch.

The Colonel left him out there, ignoring him until the very last minute—and when Jenny draped herself over the kitchen sink to vomit for a third time, he stormed out and stepped out on the front porch—and nudged Gibbs with his foot.

"I told you to go home," he growled dangerously.

Gibbs stood up, his uniform wrinkled—and his cover absent.

"I wanted to make sure she's alright, sir," he said tensely.

The Colonel fell silent, conflicted for a moment—it took a lot of guts for Gibbs to hang around, knowing how angry Jasper was, just to make sure that Jenny was safe-and something about that elevated the young man in Shepard's eyes—no matter how impossible that seemed right now.

"She's fine," he said curtly. "She's throwin' up the rest of the whiskey," he told him, lowering his voice. "Go home, Gibbs," he ordered pointedly, brooking no argument this time. "I need to set her straight."

Gibbs nodded, and started to leave—and then he turned back.

"Still okay if I come back tonight?" he asked bravely.

The Colonel looked impressed. He shook his head, a sarcastic sort of smirk touching his lips.

"Christ," he muttered, and lifted his eyes to the ceiling.

He slammed the door, but for some reason—Gibbs took it as a good sign.

* * *

Jasper Shepard slammed his hand loudly and violently down on the kitchen table where his daughter was cradling her head. He made sure to bang ceramic mugs around as obnoxiously as possible as he poured her a mug of scalding black coffee and then slid it in front of her and clapped his hands next to her ear.

"Sit up, Jennifer Morgan Shepard, and look at me," he demanded, yanking a chair out from the table with a screeching noise and sitting down.

She lifted her head, wincing, taking a deep breath.

"Daddy," she began.

"Do not _daddy_ me," he interrupted, mimicking her weak simper perfectly.

"My head," she whined.

"I know your head hurts. You damn well deserve the hangover," he said, keeping his volume loud. "You deserve ever single bit of what you're about to get. You sit up straight, Jennifer, and you look me in the eye."

It took her a minute—she struggled, both with her nausea, her headache, and the instant instinct she had to talk back to him defensively—but finally in silence, she sat with her shoulders back and met his eyes with her bloodshot greens. He gave her a split second to get whatever thoughts she had in order.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded.

Her eyes fluttered, and her nose wrinkled. She pulled her coffee towards her and looked down into it for a moment before looking back up and shrugging a little. She bit her lip. He tightened is jaw unrelentingly and leaned forward.

"I'm waiting," he barked.

She parted her lips.

"What am I supposed to say?" she croaked shakily.

"You could start with why the hell you thought it was a good idea to drink yourself into a stupor," he nearly roared back at her.

"I didn't mean—" she started, spilling her coffee as she jerked her hand angrily. She swore at the burn and then reached up to clutch her head. "I wasn't—I didn't intend to get—drunk—I didn't mean to," she stumbled hurriedly over his words. "It was an accident—"

The Colonel stared at her in disbelief.

"You expect me to believe you _accidentally_ swallowed _six or seven shots_ of whiskey?" he snarled. "You have a first place debate team trophy, Jennifer, I expect you to argue your side at least slightly better than Bill Clinton!"

She looked confused, but leaned back harshly, immediately on the defensive.

"I drank too fast, Dad, I didn't realize—I didn't decide to go get wasted, okay? I feel awful—I didn't like," she faltered again and tilted her head back, her lips shaking as she tried not to cry.

He cut off whatever she was composing in her head.

"Your actions were unacceptable," he growled, leaning forward again. He tapped his finger sharply on the table. "In the past two days, you have taken the colossal amount of trust I afforded you and completely destroyed it," he snapped. "I took a very big risk allowing you the freedom to see a man five years older than you, and you have repaid me by drinking, breaking your curfew, and trying to sneak that boy into your bed—"

"_Dad_-"

"Into my house!" shouted Jasper, cutting her off again.

"That isn't fair!" Jenny fired back, cringing as she raised her voice. "You—you said that you'd let that go and I—I wasn't going to do anything inappropriate—"

"Well what the hell were you going to do with a boy in your bedroom after midnight?" Jasper demanded.

"I don't—I barely know what to do with him—in his truck—Daddy—I thought you were giving me a pass; it's not fair to start shouting about that—I'm sorry I went out and got drunk, I'm sorry I got sick—it was stupid it was," she broke off, still feeling his intense, disappointed glare. "We weren't going to have sex, okay?" she shouted, standing up and spilling her coffee.

Her cheeks flushed, and Jasper sat back, his face darkening uncomfortably. Jenny rubbed her hands over her face, trying to scrub her pounding headache away.

"He's only been my boyfriend for a two months—I just…I got a little—I didn't want him to go home yet. I like him—a lot, Daddy, I l-" she stumbled over her words and grabbed the table, steadying herself—she was actually terrified of the stupid thing that almost came out of her mouth, and she sensed her father was, too.

He stood up.

"Two months," he repeated. _"Two_ months," he emphasized. "That is the crux of the matter," he growled, and watched as Jenny slumped into her seat tiredly. "You have got to slow it down, Jenny."

"I just told you—I just fucking _told_ you, we're not having sex—I'm not even _thinking_ about it—"

"Jennifer Morgan, _do not ever swear at me again_!" roared Jasper, leaning forward on the table. "This is not about the sex," he paused, making a face as he forced out the rest of his sentence, "you may or may not be having," he shouted. "You are moving _too fast_," he reiterated. "I have _been_ there, Jenny, I have _done_ the infatuation, the endorphins—it's overwhelming—I know," he growled. "I am tellin' you to slow. It. _Down_."

Jenny fell silent. She took a deep breath, titled her head back—and tears started to fall down her face.

Her father sighed and turned away—he hated to see his daughter cry, and he hated it more when he was the one who caused it; but this had to be done. He turned around sharply. He sat back down in front of her.

"Listen to me, Jenny," he said in a low, firm voice. "You scared me last night," he said bluntly. "I had to carry you to bed. I had to make sure you were conscious. Friday night, I caught you almost putting yourself in a situation you have basically _just_ told me you're not ready for—and let me tell you; I know I cannot blame Gibbs for this—even if I want to. You are my daughter; but you are not perfect. He is by no means an innocent player in this little drama," growled Jasper, "but you are responsible for your choices; _you_ are my daughter, and you are the one I have to be able to trust. I know that physically, I can trust Gibbs not to hurt you—but I have to be able to trust you to make the right decisions—and you have just broken that trust."

Jasper paused, watching her cry silently for a moment.

"It infuriates me that you did so well earning it—that I was comfortable enough to let you go on that road trip with this boy—and then over the next few weeks you pushed me and pushed me—do not give me that look," he snapped. "You had Gibbs over when I wasn't here, and I let it slide. You tested my patience with curfew, and I ignored it. I kept my mouth shut about the four C's you brought home in Chemistry—yes; I know about the C's," he said. "I kept waiting for you to blink, and reign yourself in. You think I'm too wrapped up in my problem at work to pay attention—you are sadly misinformed. I wanted to give you the chance to slow this down," he said warily. "You've forced me to do it for you."

Her breath caught in her throat in a kind of sob.

"Daddy," she began. "You can't—don't make me stop seeing him," she pleaded, her tears starting more heavily. "He—he told me to take it easy. I know I messed up. Don't—"

Jasper held up his hand.

"Forbidding you to see him wouldn't solve anything," he said logically. "You would either be miserable—which I do not want, no matter what you think about me right now—or you would engage in even more dangerous behavior to sneak out and see him behind my back. What I mean is, very literally, you are going to slow this down."

She closed her mouth, leaning forward almost in relief and putting her head in her hands. She took a few deep breaths and then grabbed for a towel on the table and started mopping half-heartedly at the coffee.

"You've got to get your head on straight, Jenny," he said sharply. "You've got to get that Chemistry grade back up. You need to take a step back and cool off."

He hesitated.

She frowned.

"Dad—" she started. "I'm taking it slower than you think," she started earnestly, though she sounded too testy and flippant. "You're acting like I've lost my head and I—I'm trying to get a grip on the butterflies but I," she paused, her cheeks flushing. "I'm not stupid—I'm not Holly—"

"You are going to justify your actions, Jenny," he said frankly. "You don't see your behavior the same way I do." He leaned forward, his eyes hardening. "If you don't take a step back, this will get out of control in the blink of an eye," he said sagely. "You are a smart, smart young woman Jenny—you're somethin' to be reckoned with and the last thing I want is for you to end up pregnant," he said frankly. "You know—your mother, she and I never thought, or took it slow, and she was not ready for everything that hit us—"

Jenny looked at him, stricken, and pushed her chair back, leaping away from the table.

"Don't compare me to her!" she shouted. She pushed her hair back roughly. "I am _nothing_ like her, Daddy—I will _never_ be like her! I am not running around skipping school and trying to hoodwink a sailor into marrying me—I won't get pregnant, I am ten times too _vigilant_ to ever let that happen—but if I did, I'd be responsible enough to step up instead of abandoning my mistakes!" she raged.

She looked at him, and the pain on her face broke his heart—and then she spun around and threw up in the sink again, and burst into fresh tears.

Jasper got up heavily and walked over. He rested his hand on her slumped shoulders and turned the cold water on, letting it clean the sink. Jenny's shoulders were shaking violently, he steeled himself to send her up to bed until they had both calmed down—he was wrong to bring up her mother, and he hadn't at all mean to imply she was acting as irreverently and selfishly as Kimberly always had.

He was just desperately trying to give this little girl—this almost grown girl—of his some perspective, because the thought that she might get hurt—through her own decisions or Gibbs'—kept him awake at night.

* * *

It was dusk when she found herself facing Gibbs again—and it was dusk when her headache subsided, and she stopped feeling so sick—and she'd had time to think. She sat on the back of her beloved red mustang, thinking about her father, and watching Gibbs as he loved on Ike, and waited for her to speak.

"You okay?" he asked finally.

She nodded slowly.

"You tried to stop me," she said, lifting one shoulder half-heartedly.

"Could've tried harder," he said dryly. She smiled, and shook her head—she wouldn't have listened; and she had put Gibbs in an unfair position by choosing to act so stupidly.

He wasn't her father—and she didn't want him to order her around because he was older than her, and because that wasn't how relationships worked—but she knew he was on thin ice because of his age, and when she didn't respect the rules he had to follow, she put a strain on her relationship with Gibbs, and with her father.

"It was brave of you," she said. "To sleep on the porch? Dad told me," she said. She looked down at her hands. "We had a huge fight this morning," she said in a small voice. "He yelled at me—he hasn't yelled like that in so long," she reflected.

She looked up and met Gibbs' eyes.

"I really disappointed him," she choked out. Her eyes watered painfully and she wiped at them angrily—she didn't want to cry in front of Jethro; she would look so young and so stupid.

He leaned on the car next to her and shrugged.

"You can make it up to him," he comforted simply.

"I hated how he looked at me," she mumbled shakily. "He's my…his respect means everything," she went on. She sighed uncertainly. "He wants us to slow down."

Gibbs nodded, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"I'll back off, Jen," he said. "If it helps you fix things with 'im." He swallowed and looked up at the house. "He, uh-want me to stop seeing you?"

"No," she said softly. "He gave me some standards I have to meet." She laughed sarcastically. "You may want to stop seeing me, once you hear 'em."

"Try me."

"I have to bring my Chemistry grade up to an A," she said huskily. "And, um—submit two college applications, and present him with detailed information on the other schools I'm applying to. I have to work only weekend shifts, for a few weeks—I can't use my phone," she listed. She chewed on her lip. "I can see you—once a week. Here. And in the kitchen. Until the chemistry is fixed," she admitted. "And then he says…he'll see."

Gibbs watched her, and she looked away, embarrassed. He put his hand on her leg.

He shrugged.

"Okay," he said.

She turned and looked at him.

"_Okay_?" she snorted, skeptical.

"He's just bein' a dad," Gibbs said pointedly—the same thing she'd told him about his own father.

Gibbs reached up and rubbed his jaw roughly. She stared at him—and her eyes softened.

"I figure—I'll hang back until Thanksgiving," he decided. "Hell, I'll kiss ass a little and I won't take him up on the once a week," he suggested. "Not at first." He shrugged his shoulders, reaching down to rub Ike's ears. "Slow and steady, right?" he asked, cracking a grin.

She still stared at him.

"Jethro," she said, shaking her head. "Why?"

He shrugged bluntly, and caught her eye for a moment. He looked down at the dog. She licked her lips, thinking of his little wooden box from Stillwater.

"Is it," she began tentatively. "Is it—because I don't put up with your bullshit?"

He stared at Ike, and then he laughed and looked up at her. The sort of cautious, guarded, but determined look in his blue eyes said yes—and she smiled, tilting her head.

He had been the reason she made a few bad judgment calls—trying to grow up, figure out what he wanted—and he had been the reason for her Chemistry struggles but now, she realized, he wasn't expecting her to be some twenty-two-year old woman; he was dating seventeen-year-old Jenny Shepard, and he was fine with it—and forcing her to slow it down, then—that was the best motivation to bring up her Chemistry grade her father could have possible given her.

* * *

_feedback feedback please please!_

_-alexandra_


	8. The Taliban-Proof System

_A/N:__ Head's up, this is the last super super rapid update. Not that it's going to get slow; I just want to pace it some (unlike some, I can pace myself). Also? Mila hasn't beta'd like the last 5 chapters (boo hissssss). Jenny got a little bit naughty last chapter, is she going to get her shit together in this one? ;)_

_Chapter Six_

_The Taliban-Proof System_

* * *

Anxiety was not a state of mind Jenny usually experienced when awaiting an important test grade; years of excelling academically had conditioned her to vaguely assume she would be given a high grade, and the above average scores she always received reinforced her blasé attitude. This test, however—this most important Chemistry test of her life, to infuse the situation with all of the teenage drama it deserved—was giving her the kind of stressed butterflies that resulted in her hands being clenched tightly in her lap and her foot jerking repetitively and sharply as she stared, jaw set, at her teacher.

Dr. Sciuto was returning tests at what seemed like an offensively slow pace and, on top of that, it appeared that Jenny's was the last one in the pile—because she felt like she'd been waiting forever. She swallowed hard, her eyes following Dr. Sciuto's hands critically, and then caught her breath when the teacher paused in front of her desk—only to turn to the left and hand a thick test to the boy next to her.

Jenny bit back a frustrated groan, looked up to glare, and found that Dr. Sciuto was looking at her with slight amusement—and that's when Jenny realized she was teasing her on purpose—and she almost leapt out of her seat in anticipation, because she didn't think Sciuto would tease her if she'd done poorly on the exam.

Then again, there was a difference between not doing poorly and getting the A she absolutely needed.

It was the last day of classes before the Thanksgiving holidays, and an A grade on this exam would determine if her break would be worth all the studying she'd done.

"Timothy McGee," Dr. Sciuto said sharply—and the student in the desk to the right side of Jenny jumped a foot and stammered, his face flushing. "The next time you forget to put your name on your paper, I throw it directly in the trash," she warned him, with a smile on her face.

She handed him a test and winked.

"Excellent job," she complimented. "You were almost the highest in the class this time," she added, handing a paper back to a girl two seats behind Jenny and lifting up the last one in her hand. "Almost," she repeated, and then promptly presented Jenny with her test. "That honor, this time, goes to Miss Shepard."

It took so much energy for Jenny to stop herself from leaping out of her seat with a scream and launching herself at Dr. Sciuto for a very inappropriate hug that the annoyed eye-rolling of her classmates occurred unbeknownst to her. The bell rang, the class started to pack up and Jenny—hand shaking—half-ignored it as she started flipping through the test to find her grade.

"Jenny," Dr. Sciuto said lightly. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to speak with you after class for a moment."

Jenny looked up, slightly distracted, and nodded politely, still thumbing through the pages and pages of complex calculations and balanced equations. Her eyes scanned quickly, taking in the lack of red marks, and bit down on her lip hard when she reached the last page and read the finale grade.

_100% - A+._

She'd gotten one equation wrong—but she'd knocked the extra credit theoretical question out of the park.

She took a moment to close her eyes and take a deep breath, but she couldn't help the satisfied, relieved smile that lit up her face. She held the test to her chest for a moment, and then stood up and began shoving things into her backpack—except for the precious test, which she was planning on framing, basically.

The classroom was fairly empty at this point—except for poor Tim McGee, struggling to untangle his backpack from the back of his chair and growing redder by the minute—and Jenny approached Dr. Sciuto's whimsically decorated desk slowly, with a sort of excited apprehension—she didn't really know what to expect. She had started off spectacularly in this class, and Dr. Sciuto had said nothing when her grades had taken the dramatic dip—now she wondered if she was about to be accused of cheating, or if Dr. Sciuto wanted to psychoanalyze her—and both possibilities overwhelmed her, because all she could think about currently was how pleased her father was going to be—and how this meant her house arrest was going to loosen up considerably.

Dr. Sciuto waited until Timothy had stammered a goodbye and hustled out of the classroom before she leaned forward on her desk, palms braced against the flat surface, and looked at Jenny intently.

She glanced down the darkly decorated grade book in front of her and then looked back up at Jenny with an unreadable expression.

"You asked me to calculate your grade after this exam so you could see where you are," she said neutrally.

Jenny nodded, folding her arms—careful not to crumple her prized exam paper, and chewed the inside of her lip tensely, waiting.

Dr. Sciuto tapped a sparkly black nail on a line in her grade book.

"That perfect score definitely bumped you," she remarked logically, and double-checked the grade before she said: "You're at a ninety three."

Jenny broke into a completely uncontainable grin and bounced on her feet a little, reveling in the moment—she had worked so hard to perfect her homework assignments, catch up on what she'd been too distracted to pay attention to, and pull her score up—and the payoff was the best feeling in the world. Dr. Sciuto smiled at her and straightened up, cocking her head for a moment thoughtfully. She turned, perched on the edge of her desk, and placed her hand lightly on her hip, still considering Jenny.

"You know, if I constructed a graphical representation of your scores, it would be counterintuitive," she remarked. "It would start off magnificent, dip dramatically—begin a slow rise up," she explained, and then arched an eyebrow. "There's usually some sort of variable that interferes and derails a student that drastically."

Jenny met Dr. Sciuto's friendly eyes and nodded slowly. Dr. Sciuto inclined her head.

"I don't mean to get in your business," she said neutrally, "but if there's something that happens that affects your work, a talk with me could help avoid a grade crash like that if you need time or help."

Jenny flushed slightly and shifted her weight, raising an eyebrow frankly.

"It was a couple weeks of frivolous judgment on my part," she said bluntly.

"Ah," Dr. Sciuto said. "There was a boy."

"There was a boy," Jenny agreed, blowing hair out of her face sheepishly. She tilted her head slightly.

"Is there still a boy?" Sciuto asked.

Jenny nodded.

"Yes—I've simply had austerity measures placed on me by my father," she said wryly. She shrugged. "It was a wake-up call I appreciate, ma'am. I value my schoolwork."

"That I can tell," Sciuto said, nodding her head.

Jenny lifted one shoulder.

"I thought I was practical, until I realized infatuation can turn anyone's head if she's not prepared," she said honestly. "My father suggested I make up for my disproportionate attention to the—er, infatuation—with an equally emphatic attention to school. Balance out the boy with brains," she said, and then waved her test with a quick smirk. "This means I'm off house arrest."

"Smart dad," Sciuto said, with a curt nod. She leaned forward. "Balance is everything. But—don't let the difficulties of things like this overwhelm you and discourage you," she advised. Learn the balance," she said, and shrugged. "Don't let anyone tell you that you can't have the boy _and_ the brain."

Jenny tilted her head and raised her eyebrows, caught off guard by the sort of girl power conversation this had turned into. She was silent for a moment, and then jolted out of her thoughts when she realized Sciuto's standard Chem class was slowly filing in. She straightened up and adjusted her backpack a little.

"I will get a five on the AP exam," she said firmly, nodding her head.

Sciuto nodded right back, and stood, walking with Jenny to the door. Jenny turned and stepped forward, furrowing her brow nicely.

"Dr. Sciuto—Tim McGee...you could ease up on him, and he'd stop twitching so much," she said wryly. "He has a crush on you."

Dr. Sciuto laughed, and pointed Jenny out of the classroom.

"Yes, Miss Shepard—I know."

* * *

The text message she sent Gibbs when she was leaving the school after her third block simply said '_Voicemail_!'—and she sent it preemptively, before she had actually called and left the message. She knew he was still on base and wouldn't answer, and she knew if she texted him details he'd just call her and ask her what she wanted, because even though he'd been raised in this century, Gibbs was inexplicably confused by text messaging. As weird as she thought it was, she also found it cute—it meant he called her a lot, and he usually wanted to say something in person.

Rare for the day, but endearing.

"Hey, babe," she said when his mechanical answering machine picked up—he hadn't personalized it or anything. "I got my Chem grade back, and I'm pretty sure Dad's going to let me take down our Berlin Wall…"

She checked around the parking lot while she talked, making sure she wasn't about to walk into a car or trip over loose gravel. Her father had all but promised her that if she succeeded in holding up her end of the Chemistry bargain, he'd let her see Gibbs as much as she wanted—within their rules—throughout Thanksgiving weekend.

Jenny wanted to tell him that as soon as possible—and, she liked leaving him voicemails because she'd recently discovered that he never deleted any of them.

"So I think tonight don't drop by because I'm going to spend some time with Dad to butter him up, but Thanksgiving is still a go, because you can't go your whole life without Noemi's stuffing—"

"JENNY!" screamed Holly across the parking lot suddenly.

Jenny broke off, distracted, and looked up—Holly and Mark were hanging out by her car, and Holly was bouncing excitedly. Jenny waved and moved towards them faster, pressing her cell phone to her ear more tightly.

Holly squealed and took off running.

"I have to go—Holly's going to jump on me in like five—" before she could finish, Holly launched herself into Jenny and nearly knocked her over, and Jenny laughed, struggling with her for a moment. "Call me later, Jethro," she managed to shout, before Holly took her phone.

"Yeah, call her before bed, Jethro," she drawled into the phone, winking suggestively at Jenny.

Jenny rolled her eyes and snatched the phone back, ending the call and shoving Holly away. Holly danced in place, grabbing Jenny by her shoulders and grinning happily.

"Nina told me you got your A," she sang smugly, tossing her hair. She yanked Jenny around a bit more, pulling her towards the red Mustang. "Mark and I are so proud of you," she cooed teasingly.

Jenny pushed her away, gently shoving her into the body of the car and throwing her backpack into the front seat—the top was down, because even though it was late November and annoyingly cold, the sun was out and it was a lovely day—and frankly, Jenny just hated putting the top up.

Jenny took a bow and leaned against her car, arching her eyebrows.

"It wasn't just an A—" she started.

"Oh, Nina told us," Holly said wryly.

"Who gets a one hundred percent in Chemistry?" Mark snorted.

Jenny pointed to herself, moving her finger in a circle to encompass her whole face, and lifted her chin loftily.

"A hard-earned hundred percent," she pointed out.

"A _motivated_ hundred percent," Holly agreed, elbowing Mark. "Remember? Our goody-two-shoes Jenny got drunk and defiled in one weekend and that A is the only reason she gets to keep the J."

"Stop calling him J," growled Jenny.

"His name is _stupid_," Holly retorted wryly.

"Not as stupid as you're gonna look when I'm done with you," Jenny threatened mildly, grabbing Holly's hair and mockingly yanking her into a headlock. Holly struggled feebly and giggled, blinking up at Jenny.

Jenny let her go and pushed her over to Mark.

"Control your woman," she said, and then gave Holly a wary look. "I didn't get defiled."

"You tried to sneak him to your room!" shrieked Holly gleefully. She was very fond of reminding Jenny of this—since Jenny had spilled the story when she was tipsy at Halloween. "You were _trying_ to get defiled!"

Though she was still annoyed by Holly's constant sex comments, Jenny resisted the urge to give her the cold shoulder and snorted instead, performing a sassy flip of her hair.

"Defiled?" she drawled. "I think you're pronouncing 'laid' wrong."

Holly raised her eyebrows, impressed, and leaned against Mark. She shrugged her shoulders and laughed again.

"Well," she said logically, her eyes sparkling. "Your dad's going to loosen up now, so the next time Gibbs takes you out remember that the backs of trucks are called beds for a reason—"

"Holly, it's the middle of winter!" Jenny laughed.

"So?" Holly said with a blink. "Dicks are warm."

Jenny stared at her—and then burst out laughing, shaking her head and ignoring the ridiculous comment—even if, to her credit, Holly had a point. She tossed her hair back and jingled her keys, making a hand to shoo them away from her car.

"I've got to get to work," she snickered, still grinning, darting around to the other edge of her car and opening the driver's side door. "Better get back to football workouts," she said to Mark.

Mark plucked at the collar of his practice jersey smugly and shot Holly a suggestive look.

"Any chance your hands are cold?" he asked.

Holly giggled and pulled him away from the car.

"Nah, pom-poms are toasty," she said innocently, and pressed a kiss to his mouth. "Jenny," she said, stepping out of the way as Jenny started her car. "Can I still come over later and grab some boots for the trip to my parent's cabin this weekend?"

"Yeah," Jenny answered loudly over the engine. "As long as you accept right now that you can't take my red tall boots. Jethro likes 'em, and I plan on wearing them Friday morning."

"Oooh, gonna have a late night?" Holly trilled, as Jenny backed the car out and pulled around alongside her and Mark.

"Nah, I've just convinced him to do what you bitches would never do with me," she retorted, and sped off—leaving Mark to look with slight confusion at Holly.

"What's that? Naked slumber parties?"

Holly shoved him.

"You're such a guy," she said, rolling her eyes. She smirked. "She means he's licked enough to go Black Friday shopping with her."

* * *

Jenny sat quietly at the kitchen table, her eyes boring into her father's back. Colonel Shepard stood staring at the chemistry exam in his hands, the front of his body angled towards the refrigerator. She'd left it on his desk when she returned home from work, and when he'd come home from the Pentagon, she'd been getting ahead on an English assignment in the kitchen. He had marched in five minutes ago, and the silent staring had been going on since.

Jasper took a few steps forward, grabbed a magnet, and pinned the Chemistry exam to the refrigerator. He turned on his heel and faced his daughter, eyeing her for a moment before he gave her a curt nod.

"That is an impressive turn around, Jennifer," he said sincerely. He pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her, resting his arms on the table. He was still in uniform—and somehow, that made his compliment that much more meaningful. She grinned, and he nodded his head again, almost thoughtfully. "Your grades have gone up in a steady incline."

She licked her lips and leaned forward.

"I took you seriously, Daddy," she told him emphatically. She hesitated, and tilted her head at the test. "I told you I could do it."

He snorted.

"That test score has Gibbs written all over it," he drawled skeptically, glaring at her gruffly.

Jenny shook her head tensely.

"No, it's just as much about you as him," she said seriously. "Look, Dad…it wasn't…that I didn't care about my grades…I wasn't _happy_ that I dropped the ball I just—"

"You were distracted."

"Distracted," she agreed. "And I'm used to effortless success in school, and I had no idea what it was like to balance a relationship with work _and_ school," she paused. "I didn't just get it together so I could see Jethro again," she said, and glared at her father when he rolled his eyes dramatically at her. "I didn't! Okay? You were so mad at me on Halloween—you've _never_ been that mad at me. It was awful. I want to be successful, you know, I don't want to get good grades just so I can see my boyfriend. I like excelling. And I like making you proud."

He considered her, and tilted his head.

"I am proud of you, Jennifer," he said neutrally.

She nodded.

"I want it to stay that way," she said earnestly. "You know he—Jethro hasn't replaced you or anything. And I know I was acting stupid, but it was kind of fun and crazy and," she faltered.

She and her father had not seriously discussed what had happened since the morning after. She had obediently worked and focused on school, with an hour or two on Sundays allowed for her to—well, at first it was call, and later on it was to see, Gibbs.

"I've got a handle on things, now," she said firmly. "I can do Gibbs and school."

Her father stared at her. She stared back, and then suddenly blanched and sat up, shaking her head and spluttering.

"I didn't mean—I mean I can see—we're not…I mean…oh my god," she moaned, flushing and burying her face in her hands.

She chewed on her lip, absolutely mortified—and her father started laughing, apparently taking pleasure in her discomfort.

"There's a Freudian slip if I've ever heard one," he said gruffly, getting up and going to the cabinets to rummage around for food.

She looked up warily.

"Noemi left lasagna in the fridge," she advised him, and then went on quickly: "It's not a _Freudian_ slip! I told you we—"

"I didn't accuse you of anything," Jasper said sharply, refusing to turn around and look at her as he went to the fridge, admired her test for a moment, and then went in to get the leftover lasagna.

Jenny chewed on her lip and watched him. She squinted her eyes, her stomach fluttering uncomfortably. She really—she wasn't considering having sex with Gibbs; the topic hadn't even really come up but—she wondered what her father would think, or rather, what kind of dad he was about that sort of—well, in Holly's words, defilement.

"Dad," she began. "You wouldn't kick me out if I—with him—or, I mean—should I tell you? If—"

Colonel Jasper slammed the refrigerator door shut and turned around, his face white with either embarrassment or rage or—well, she wasn't quite sure. He glared at her seriously, a Tupperware container of lasagna in his hands. In fact, he held it so tightly, his knuckles were completely white, and she became concerned he was going to permanently damage the poor thing.

"Jennifer," he began dangerously. "You're seventeen years old."

She held out her hand.

"That's not particularly relevant—"

"It's much more relevant than you think it is," he growled at her warily.

"What's your point, Dad?" she asked uncertainly. "Is this a rule, then?"

He look frustrated and taken aback; uncomfortable and confused—conversations like this were above his pay grade and foreign to him; she needed a mother for this and he had never been her mother—but Kimberly had never been that for her, either. He despised the idea of her—getting—physically involved with this guy, but it was for a myriad of reasons; she was his little girl, he didn't want her hurt, he didn't want her growing up—he didn't know if she could handle the magnitude of changes that came with men and sex and—

He realized she was waiting for him to answer, and he narrowed his eyes, setting his jaw tensely.

"It is not a good idea," he said shortly. "You're too young," he added tightly, trying to figure out what he wanted her to understand—when he didn't really want to discuss this at all. He tilted his head suddenly, suspicious. "Is Gibbs bothering you about this?" he growled aggressively. "I'll set him straight, Jenny," he promised ominously.

"No," Jenny muttered, looking down. She picked up her pencil. "He's—no. Forget it, Dad," she said almost to herself.

"If he's—"

"He hasn't even mentioned it," she said testily, cutting him off. She pushed her hair back and waved her hand at him a little rudely. "I don't want to talk about it," she snapped. "It's not _relevant_," she added quietly, spitting the word.

She felt like she had her answer—Jasper was clearly opposed to the very idea of her having any sort of sexual relationship, and she suddenly felt confused and pulled in several different ways; when Holly mentioned her having sex with Gibbs, she was immediately wary of the idea and unwilling to even think about a relationship like that, because it seemed complicated and scary—but when her father almost tacitly forbade it, she indignantly felt she was old enough and deserved it.

In a way, it made her realize there were too many things that _were_ relevant about it, and she was just glad Gibbs hadn't—asked.

She bit her lip and—well, the thought occurred to her that he might be a virgin, but she laughed—out loud. The thought was absurd—he was way too good of a kisser, and she had the impression he'd have taken her home on the Fourth of July if she hadn't so obliviously ended the night.

The Colonel glared at her giggle sharply, and went about fixing his dinner, thinking of a way to break the silence. He hadn't meant to upset Jenny, or make her think he'd—what had she asked? _Kick her out? —_if she got _involved_ with Gibbs, but he wanted it made clear that his rules were in place to prevent her from making a very stupid mistake.

"Gibbs coming for Thanksgiving?" he asked vaguely.

"He's not coming at all if I'm involved, apparently," Jenny mumbled sarcastically under her breath.

"_Jennifer_," growled the Colonel in a pained, outraged snarl. She hadn't seriously just sat at his kitchen table and made such a crude—

"Yes," she said innocently, as if nothing had happened. "I called him and told him he was invited," she said. She sat back and looked up. "You said we could do Black Friday shopping as my reward," she reminded him. "Is that still okay?"

Her face still had some annoyance etched on it, and the Colonel noted that with a warning look before he put his dinner in the microwave and then turned and leaned on the counter. He nodded, lifting his shoulders.

"You deserve it. I won't go back on my word," he said simply. "You can spend the whole weekend with him, as long as you're smart about it," he added. He lowered his chin and caught her eye sternly. "I'm going to give you this weekend for him if you want. You've followed my guidelines since your little incident impeccably, and that's worth a salute."

She smiled a little, her eyes lighting up—good. She was dying for just a stretch of days with Gibbs, to test out how they would work now that she had mellowed out and taken a step back—and she nervously wondered if he'd—well, gotten a little annoyed with how restricted it was dating her. He said he didn't care—but she wondered if his opinions had changed as he realized what this lockdown had meant.

"This is the tricky part, Jenny," the Colonel said sharply. "I had you on house arrest these past few weeks, and that made it easy for you to focus completely on school. I'm not discounting your accomplishment," he said, gesturing at her exam, "but now comes the part where I find out if, when I hand you back the control, you've learned your lesson."

She nodded. He still glared at her sternly.

"I'm going to watch you like a hawk, Little J," he warned bluntly. "Your job is to prove to me I can trust you again."

She chewed on her lip and nodded, swallowing all of her words. At this point—it would be futile; she just needed to silently show him she completely understood. He glared at her intently, making sure he read sincerity in her, and then he grunted and prowled around the kitchen, looking for something to snack on while his dinner heated up.

"You owed me two college applications," he said lightly, rummaging in the pantry. "You turned in Georgia last week—what was your second?"

She leaned back, folded her arms, and grinned smugly—she'd actually turned _four_ college applications in, and she was slightly eager to gain some extra favor with her overachievement.

* * *

Gibbs carefully avoided banging his head as he slowly removed his upper body from Jackie's rickety oven. He sat backwards, balancing on his heels, and eyed the wire racks critically. He reached out and tugged on one, shaking it—it didn't budge. He nodded, satisfied.

"That'll do it," he muttered, standing up and brushing his hands off on his ACUs. "It's fine, Jackie."

Jackie bent down and peered into the oven, chewing her lip warily.

"You sure, Gibbs?" she asked carefully.

He nodded and reached out with his foot and pressed down on the rack again—it didn't budge.

"Cook a twenty pound turkey in there and it'll hold," he said smugly.

She straightened up, rolling her eyes.

"Lord, as if I need a twenty pound turkey," she said anxiously, glancing around.

"You will since you invited Fornell," griped Leon from the living room, trudging into the kitchen to inspect the result of Gibbs' work.

Jackie clicked her tongue.

"He's got nowhere to go, Leon," she retorted. She put a hand on her hip and pointed at Gibbs. "You bring this one home for Thanksgiving all the time. Ain't no difference."

"Gibbs doesn't hit on my mother," Vance protested loudly.

Jackie laughed, shaking her head.

"Well, Tobias will balance out my little brother," she placated. "I don't want 'im here, but since we're having your parents and tryin' to do our little first Thanksgivin', with me cookin," she went on, and then folded her arms and shot Gibbs a glare, "and since Gibbs bailed on us, I gotta have one of your smooth-talkin' friends at my table."

Gibbs smirked at her and then shut her oven soundly, leaning over to turn it on and show her how it lit up properly and worked now. She clapped her hands and leapt closer, grabbing his shoulder and shaking it happily.

"You know how much money you just saved me?" she asked. "First my dishwasher, then my oven," she sighed.

Leon stalked forward and pried Gibbs away from Jackie, glaring at him moodily and shooting a stung look at his wife.

"You're startin' to make me think I've got somethin' to worry about," he whined.

Jackie laughed loudly, rolling her eyes at Leon. She held her hand to her chin, flashing her lovely engagement ring, and shook her head.

"No, Leon, you've still got one on him—but serves you right," she added in a snort, cocking her head. "You learn how to be a handyman, and I won't have to call my hero here."

She gestured at Gibbs, and he leaned back against the sink, grinning smugly at Leon. Vance had mentioned warily that Jackie was freaking out because the stove had gone out right before she had to cook Thanksgiving dinner and Gibbs, being Gibbs, had gone straight to her apartment after work to fix it for her. He liked that better than having nothing to do—Jenny was off of school today, but she was working from open to close at the café and had apologetically informed him that after that she had to finish a college application and get Ike groomed before she'd be free—so he'd see her tomorrow at Thanksgiving.

Leon slipped his arm around Jackie, shooting a dirty look at the fixed oven, and she leaned forward sternly, tilting her head.

"You do have somewhere to go for the holiday, right?" she asked sharply. "Your girl followed through?" she added a little tensely.

Vance nudged her, and she nudged him rudely right back, eyes on Gibbs.

He lifted his chin and nodded, a muscle in his jaw twitching a little. He tilted his head to the side and considered Jackie for a minute.

"She's not a flake, Jack," he said mildly. "She had to answer to the Colonel, is all."

Jackie made a derisive noise.

"'Cause y'all thought it would be a good idea to ply teenagers with alcohol," she sniffed. She sighed and shook her head.

"You sayin' you never got in trouble when you were younger?" Gibbs asked pointedly.

Jackie glared at him, and smiled, rolling her eyes. She guessed she shouldn't be so hard on Jenny Shepard—she had just been so worried that little piece might distract Gibbs from what he'd been working so hard for. She gave him a dramatic look and then pulled away from Leon.

"If you like her, Jethro," she drawled, opening a cabinet and drawing some pans out. "I'll give her another chance."

"She's a good girl, Jackie," Gibbs defended firmly.

Jackie made a noise in the back of her throat, set a pan on the stove, and turned on her heel. She pointed straight at Gibbs, critically.

"Then you let her hang on to that for a little while, Mister," she warned pointedly, a knowing look in her eyes. "Don't make 'er sleep with you—it's emotional, all that physical stuff at that age." Leon made a face behind Jackie's back, mocking her, and she slapped him in the stomach coolly. "I saw that," she snapped, and just gave Gibbs another silent, pointed look.

Gibbs shrugged at her, silent again. She cocked an eyebrow, and then snapped her fingers.

"You damn well better tell that girl your good news, Corporal Humble," she ordered. "You tell 'er, or I'll text her myself so she can give you a good, long fawning over. You ought to have that."

"Thought you just told me not to sleep with 'er," joked Gibbs.

Vane laughed, but Jackie chucked a dishtowel at him with a narrow, wary look. She poked a sharp nail into his chest in a very maternal, warning way.

"Hey," she growled lightly. "_Fawning_ isn't fucking."

* * *

Jenny was curled up in the window seat in her bedroom, lazily holding a copy of a novel she'd read several times over her head, when she heard Gibbs pull up in his truck and park it on the street outside of her brownstone. He killed the engine, and when Ike heard the door slam, he let out an excited bark.

Jenny chucked her book down on the floor and leapt up, darting past Ike out of her bedroom and flying down the elegant carpeted stairs. She flung open the front door, ignoring how massively it probably annoyed her father, and dashed down the front steps straight into Gibbs before he could make it halfway up the driveway.

He was taken aback—mostly because Ike followed her right out the door and slammed into his knees—but he still managed to catch her around the waist and remain standing so she didn't take both of them down. He grunted, startled, and she squealed and dug her heels gently into his thighs, hugging him tightly around the neck. Gibbs grinned, relaxing a little, and returning the hug—it wasn't that he hadn't seen her since Halloween, but knowing that he was no longer restricted to an hour on the phone or thirty minutes in the driveway was liberating.

He buried his face in her hair and inhaled.

Ike barked at him wildly, nudging his knees excitedly.

"Jen," he laughed finally, tugging on her hair and looking at her. "You act like I just got back from war."

She gave him a look.

"Wasn't life without me like a war?" she teased, sticking her tongue out at him. She laughed and leaned closer, crossing her ankles behind his back.

"HEY," shouted her father from the doorstep. "PUT HER DOWN BEFORE I HAVE YOU DEPLOYED TO THE GODDAMN SPACE STATION."

Jenny rolled her eyes, biting her lip, and wriggled free, hopping down to her feet and pulling Ike towards her to calm him down. She scratched his soft, freshly groomed head and jerked her head towards the house, beckoning Gibbs in.

"He doesn't have the authority to get you deployed," Jenny said conspiratorially.

"I know," Gibbs muttered, his hand falling to her lower back as he followed her up the stairs.

He nodded sharply to the Colonel as he entered the house, blithely accepting the annoyed glare he received and offering a quick salute.

"What do you think she is, boy? A sack of potatoes? Chew toy?" groused Jasper.

"No sir," Gibbs answered seriously. "Sacks of potatoes don't usually attack me in driveways."

Jenny snorted. Jasper slammed the front door loudly, indicating his displeasure with the sass.

"You're a comedian, are you now, Corporal Taliban?"

The Colonel glared and stormed past them back into his study. Jenny grabbed Gibbs' wrist and started to lead her up to her room.

"You jump me and I'm back to the Taliban?" he asked in a low voice, glaring at Jenny.

She gave him a high-and-mighty look.

"You should know better than to touch me. I'm precious, innocent silk and your grimy paws are sullying my honor," she retorted, trying to put what her deluded father was probably thinking into words.

"You started it!"

"Not an excuse," she scoffed. "Resist your animal impulses, _Jethro_, you _swine_."

"Silk," he snorted, rolling his eyes and yanking his hand out of hers. He took two steps and stepped around her, blocking her way on the landing. She stopped and glared at him mildly. "Silk's all fragile and ladylike."

She cocked an eyebrow.

"You sayin' I'm not?" she demanded.

"I'm sayin' silk doesn't try to mount someone in the driveway."

Jenny opened her mouth in mock outrage and shoved him, glaring harder when he smirked and grabbed the bannister to keep his balance.

"Daddy," she called primly. "Jethro is disrespecting me."

* * *

In the years since her maternal grandparents had died, Thanksgiving dinner had been solely Jenny and her father—so this year, she felt slightly anxious about the addition of Gibbs. Her father seemed fine but—she wondered if it bothered him at all that she'd asked to include someone else in a usually solitary affair. The Colonel was unreadable in most cases, though, and sometimes she liked that—it was easier to take his vague grunts at face value than dwell on the thought that she might be hurting him.

Noemi had cooked and then returned to her home to spend the holiday with her family, and while the Colonel cut the turkey, Jenny was busy regaling Gibbs with a detailed list of instructions of how he should go about eating his dinner.

"It's best to pace yourself on the stuffing," she was adding, when Gibbs interrupted her.

"What if I want to start with sweet potatoes," he demanded stubbornly.

"You can't eat cranberry sauce and sweet potatoes at the same time," she retorted loudly. "It's too much sweet. It's turkey, cranberry sauce, stuffing and green beans, sweet potatoes are pre-dessert—"

"I don't like cranberry sauce," Gibbs announced.

The Colonel gave him a warning look. Jenny's draw dropped, and she punched him in the shoulder.

"That's a deal breaker," she growled.

"_What_?"

She glared at him, personally offended by his dislike. She decided to give him a pass on it, because he smirked at her rather charmingly. She smiled back and lifted her chin, falling silent.

"Well," she said after a moment. "As long as you like turkey," she sighed dramatically, and then leaned forward on her elbows, watching her father draw the wishbone out of the bird. She held out her hand expectantly—she was applying to colleges this year; she needed the luck.

Jasper shook his head, holding it smugly.

"Not a chance in hell," he growled. He gestured between the two of them with the wishbone. "Neither one of you is gettin' _lucky_ this Thanksgiving," he said sharply, and then promptly broke the wishbone in half. "All the luck for me," he announced aggressively.

Gibbs blinked placidly, choosing wisely to say nothing at all in regards to a comment like that.

Jenny glared at her father.

"That cancels out the luck, _Dad_," she informed him sassily. "What do you need luck for, anyway?"

He glared at her seriously, and she smiled angelically—fully aware he was under the impression he _still_ needed considerable help to deal with the idea of her having a real boyfriend.

The Colonel held out his hand.

"Plate," he demanded, eyeing Gibbs.

Jenny slapped Gibbs' hand down and handed her plate over instead, tossing her hair back.

"Jennifer, you have a guest."

"Whatever, I'm a lady," she retorted. "Ladies first."

Her father gave her a look and took her plate, distributing an even amount of food in the annoying order she generally liked to eat it in. He was handing it back when she made a noise and wrinkled her nose, nodding at the pan of stuffing. Jasper rolled his eyes and put another huge helping on the plate.

"Thought you said pace yourself on the stuffing," Gibbs said up pointedly.

"_You're_ an amateur at Noemi's stuffing, Jethro," she said seriously. "I'm not."

Jasper took Gibbs' plate and snorted.

"Ignore her, Gibbs," he muttered. "She never paces herself on the stuffing. She fills up on it, then spends the next hour and a half whining because she only has room for turkey or cranberry sauce and she can't pick," he analyzed.

Jenny poked her food loudly with her fork, ignoring the very accurate comments her father made. She stubbornly decided to start with a bit of gravy-covered turkey, just to prove him wrong. He smiled at her, and she scooted her chair closer so there was less chance of errant food falling into her lap.

"Noemi doesn't stick around for supper?" Gibbs asked.

Jenny shook her head, swallowing a mouthful before she answered.

"She has a grandmother and a nephew in Liberty Heights," she said. Jenny shot a look at her father to make sure he was occupied getting his own food, and then she tilted her head, raising her eyebrows and giving Gibbs a meaningful look.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows right back and pointed subtly at the Colonel. Jenny grinned and nodded—she'd give him the gossip about it later, but Jenny knew that her father didn't invite Noemi for supper because he thought it would offend Jenny—and the only reason he thought that, Jenny had figured out, was because he had stopped being just her _boss_ at some point.

Jasper opened the fridge loudly, well aware that some sort of silent shenanigans were going on behind him, and turned and gave a curt glare to Gibbs.

"You want a beer?" he asked.

Gibbs stared at him—only slightly annoyed. He knew it was a trick question, and he was slightly offended the Colonel thought he'd fall for it.

"No," he answered indignantly, and purposely left his usual 'sir' off the end.

Jasper nodded, took one for himself, and then closed the refrigerator and turned to sit down with them. He pulled his chair up and nodded; satisfied with the answer and the way the evening was going. He had initially been a little wary of Jenny inviting someone into their father-daughter holiday tradition, but logically he supposed he'd have to get used to that if he wanted her someday to marry some guy she loved and have children.

He'd never thought to ask if Jenny wanted all that, but he assumed she did. He'd have to accustom himself to her getting to an age where she would hardly be his Little J anymore. He figured it was time he try to get to know Gibbs a little better—beyond what all the background checks he'd done impersonally told him. He had a reliable gut, Colonel Shepard did, and he sensed this wasn't a little fling Jenny was going to be through with by summer.

"How'd you spend your time away from my daughter, Gibbs?" he asked gruffly, keeping it cordial and mild.

Gibbs didn't answer right away, and when he was silent, Jenny elbowed him and jerked her head, silently insisting he tell her father his accomplishment—he'd called her and told her last night. She'd had to coax it out of him, but he'd finally told her.

Jasper was waiting patiently, and Jenny finally leaned forward, rolling her eyes.

"You think he'd be dyin' to brag, considering how hard he worked," she said, pausing for dramatic effect. "Jethro earned his nomination for sniper training school."

The Colonel eyed him slowly, letting the words sink in. He let the information settle and then arched one eyebrow.

"Any chance you're bein' sent to the base in Hawaii?" he joked dryly.

Gibbs grinned slightly.

"Stayin' on at Quantico, sir," he corrected.

The Colonel inclined his head.

"Quantico's the best scout sniper school in the country," he said gruffly, trying not to be too complimentary. "For Marines," he muttered.

Jenny rolled her eyes.

"Daddy did his precision weapons training at Fort Benning," she offered—he'd done his officer training shortly after, and he'd been good friends with half the snipers in training. Not to mention, he was obviously partial to Army operations. Jenny stuck her fork out and jabbed it at Gibbs. "You didn't tell me you might be transferred if you got the nomination."

He shrugged.

"Worked hard enough to qualify for Quantico," he said vaguely. He deliberately pushed the cranberry sauce on his plate away from his food and looked over, shrugging. "If I'd been old enough, I'd have made it at Pendleton," he said.

Jenny glared at him.

"Well, what if they'd told you to go to Pendleton?" she protested. "You could have _warned_ me you might have to go across the country," she noted.

The Colonel looked across the table sharply, wary of the conversation. Gibbs seemed to clam up slightly, ignoring the admonishment, and Jasper shot him a calculating look—this was what he was worried about. Jenny may have grown up with her father deploying half of her life, but the feeling was very different when it was a significant other, even if she was accustomed to separation.

"'M stayin at Quantico," Gibbs repeated seriously.

"Means you're in for another year after scout training," Jasper broke in gruffly, cutting off a possible argument.

Gibbs nodded.

"Commitment was up in 2006," he said gruffly. "I re-committed. Five years active."

"Didn't want to take the GI Bill and go to school?" Jasper asked critically.

"Didn't much like school, sir," Gibbs said flippantly. "Marines taught me more'n _Great Expectations_ ever did."

"Yeah, them Marines kill any great expectations you got," the Colonel joked and Gibbs snorted, agreeing with a laugh—it was a rough and tumble bunch, Marines, and there was certainly a disillusioning, Dickensian element to joining up.

Jenny leaned back in her chair, eyeing her plate. She wanted to eat the rest of her stuffing—but she was getting full, and she didn't want to prove her father right. She also didn't want to interrupt the good conversation happening between the two of them right now.

"When will scout school end?" she asked.

Gibbs cleared his throat.

"Kicks off in January," he reminded her. "Ends, ah, middle of April," he added.

"There a reason you want to be a sharpshooter, son?" the Colonel asked sternly, seeking a legitimate answer. "Video games make you think it's glamorous to kill people?"

"Dad," Jenny protested, startled. She blinked and widened her eyes.

Her father, unperturbed by her indignant response, shrugged his shoulders—there were generally two kinds of men who wanted to be Marines: violent, narcissistic personalities and –

"No, sir, not glamorous," Gibbs answered calmly. He flexed his hand slightly on his knee, suddenly confronted with putting personal beliefs into words. He clenched his jaw, and did his best to answer adequately. "Precision target of a sniper means less bullets, less death. No bombing a village to get one bad guy," he said. "One shot, one kill, sir."

-the men who tried to find mercy in something merciless like war.

If Gibbs was one of the latter, he was a man the Colonel could get alone with.

The Colonel dipped his head gruffly.

"Good way to think," he remarked. "Protects your men, too. Sharpshootin'."

"That's the idea," Gibbs agreed with a slight grin.

Jenny leaned back in her chair and glared at her plate.

"I had too much stuffing," she decided.

Gibbs snorted at her. She shot him a glare for sort of siding with her father, and leaned forward, picking at her food fondly with her fork.

"I think if I put the cranberry sauce on the turkey, I can shove my face more and trick my body into thinkin' it's less," she mused, and then turned her head, looking at Gibbs' plate. "I need more viscous sauce, though," she muttered, moving her fork over.

He blocked her with his knife, giving her a warning look—reminding her he had a serious pet peeve with her picking off of his plate. He said it was because he was used to women who ordered healthy, tiny meals and then mooched off of his high-calorie food, and she figured that was true.

"Can I—" she started to ask, and he lifted his plate and deftly scraped the cranberry sauce onto hers without a word.

She wrinkled her nose cutely, thanking him, and nudged his ankle with her bare food under the table, pleased. She went about saturating her turkey in the sauce—to both her father and Gibbs' dismay, and the Colonel chose that moment to continue poking around in Gibbs' life.

"You got a military background?"

Gibbs looked thoughtful.

"My old man's retired Air Force," he answered. "Granddad flew planes in the first and second world war."

"Huh," grunted Jasper. "Two Air Force alums, and you go Marines? Why's that?"

"That's personal, sir," Gibbs said with a shrug. He looked down at his food. "'M sure you understand that."

Jenny chewed on her food quietly, watching her father to see his reaction. She had never thought to ask Gibbs why he'd joined the Marines, and it now occurred to her that she didn't know why her father had joined the Army, either. Her mother had been young when she was born, and they'd been poor, but he hadn't joined to support Jenny; he'd been in for nearly six years already.

It must have been some other—personal—reason.

"You get along with your old man?" Jasper asked astutely—he'd noticed the annoyed flicker in Gibbs' eyes when he mentioned his father.

Gibbs didn't answer for a long pause.

"I respect 'im," he said finally, his tone gruff.

"Ah, but you don't like 'im," Jasper guessed, honing in on the sentiment there.

A muscle in Gibbs' jaw tightened.

"Dad," Jenny said quietly, tilting her head and glaring.

"Your mother—" began the Colonel.

"Dead," Gibbs interrupted, before the man could ask. He looked up a little coldly. "No siblings. Three ex-girlfriends. Wrecked a truck when I was fourteen, broke a guy's jaw when I was seventeen. Clean record in the corps," he listed tightly.

The Colonel eyed him sharply.

"Daddy," Jenny placated again. She sat forward, giving her father a sharp look. "What's with the third degree? You gonna ask him who he voted for next?" she added with a sort of warning tease.

"Bush," Gibbs offered curtly.

"I just want to know what kind of man he is, Jennifer," the Colonel said coolly.

"It's fine, Jen," Gibbs said.

She ignored him.

"Actions speak louder than words, don't they?" Jenny retorted to Jasper. "Or rather, actions speak louder than things said under interrogation?" she corrected a little sharply. "You wouldn't want some guy's father to do this to me at a dinner table," she pointed out.

"No one _would,_ Jenny," the Colonel said.

"Yes, precisely," she pointed out tartly, popping her eyebrows up primly. "The way fathers treat boyfriends is insane—boys are predators until proven safe, whereas girls are all assumed angels," she analyzed. "Look, just let him eat his damn sweet potatoes, okay?"

Her father gave her a withering glare, and then pointed his knife at her warily.

"You damn well better be planning to go to law school," he said dryly, forced to accept that Jenny was right, and he shouldn't grill Gibbs at the dinner table if he wouldn't want someone to do the same to his daughter.

Jenny smirked at him, and popped a forkful of cranberry sauce covered Turkey in her mouth. Underneath the table, she placed her hand on Gibbs' thigh comfortingly, and pressed her fingertips into him.

* * *

Gibbs stretched out on Jenny's bed on his back, holding a thick, colourful college brochure over his head and flipping through it with mild interest. The door was half-open—Jenny was pushing that rule a little—and she was sitting cross-legged near the headboard, her head tilted back and her hair pulled over one shoulder so she could braid it.

"Didn't know you were applying all over the country," Gibbs grumbled next to her, thumbing through a few pages of the brochure in his hands. "This is an all girls' school," he realized suddenly, looking half-horrified, half-pleased.

Jenny reached over and swatted the brochure away from him. It fell on his face, and she giggled and pushed it off the bed onto the floor.

"I didn't apply to that one," she pointed out. It had been for Wellesley, and she'd decided the lack of gender diversity totally outweighed how good of a school it was for the liberal arts.

"Where have you applied?" he asked loudly, pretending to be offended that she'd hit him with the brochure. "All over the country," he repeated in a mutter.

"I've applied to a university in every place we've lived," she said. "So, University of Georgia, University of Virginia, University of Heidelberg," she listed. "I'm almost finished with an application to Vanderbilt University."

"Didn't know you lived in Tennessee."

"For a few months," she said vaguely—and quickly, too, he noticed; as if she wanted to get it over with. "Nashville is like DC. Small and pretty, but more polite." She began unbraiding her hair methodically, set on starting again with a different style of braid. "I'm also going to apply to Notre Dame, and Sarah Lawrence," she paused, squinting her eyes thoughtfully for a moment. "And Tulane, and Rice, and Penn—oh," she said suddenly, snapping. "I applied to George Mason in like, August, because I got a free application."

Gibbs looked up at her and blinked balefully.

"Overachiever," he accused.

"Hey!" she cried. "It's only ten! When I was fifteen, I planned on applying to a university in every state, because I thought it would be cool. And Nina—Nina is applying to every single Ivy, every single Magnolia, MIT, two schools in Russia, _and_ Oxford," she informed him, making a face.

She kicked him gently.

"I like choices," she added.

"What's a Magnolia?"

"Like Vanderbilt and Duke," Jenny said airily, and Gibbs rolled his eyes.

"You been accepted to any yet?"

"Ah," Jenny said, wincing a little. "No—um, I missed most of the early decision deadlines because I was…distracted," she admitted, trying not to think about the whole month of October and her chemistry grades and bad decisions. "Except Mason, they'll notify me in December."

"You'd go to school in Germany?" Gibbs asked, turning his head and watching her fingers as they moved through her hair. He looked a little put off by the idea and she paused, smiling at him.

"I loved Germany," she said. "I already speak the language. It gives a whole new meaning to study abroad—Jethro," she broke off, cocking her head. She puckered her lips. "You sad I might leave you all alone?" she sang innocently.

He grunted at her, and glared. She laughed.

"You're a Marine," she said flippantly. "Always on the move—look, it doesn't matter where I go to college. I'll still be in one place for four years. You," she paused, and shrugged warily, "you could go twenty different places at the drop of a hat. Don't stress about me," she advised.

She didn't want to think about her leaving for college or him being deployed—so she pushed it from her mind without dwelling too much. They were too young to define the big decisions in their lives by a significant other, anyway. At least—she was. She lowered her head, let her hair fall on his face a little, scrunched her nose, and kissed him quickly on the mouth.

"Besides, this is payback—you didn't even _warn_ me you might get whisked off to Hawaii or Pendleton."

He reached up and placed his hands on her neck, rubbing little circles with his thumbs on the indentations near her ears. She smiled, shaking her head a little to tickle his neck with her hair. He glared at her.

"Why not go to Georgetown?"

"You say that like it's a piece of cake to get in to Georgetown!" she laughed. She shrugged. "I _live_ in Georgetown, Jethro," she said. She tilted her head a little. "I'm used to moving. And when I settle back down in this townhouse, when it's mine," she paused. "I want the wanderlust out of my system."

"Haven't had enough yet?" he asked her—daughter of an Army Colonel, you'd think she'd had enough packing up and leaving.

"Nope," she said primly, and kissed him again.

He kissed her back until she pulled away for air and shifted positions, lounging against the headboard and pushing her hair back. He rolled onto his side, propped his head up on his hand, and looked at her intently, her messy, tangled hair reminding him of her drunken night on the porch.

"Jen," he said mildly, focusing on her face so he could read her when he broached the subject. "Night you were drunk," he grinned when she flushed and closed her eyes briefly, "you said you didn't want to be like Kimberly."

She opened her eyes back up sharply and stared at him. She pressed her lips together—coolly, but not totally stubbornly, and she lifted her chin as if it would defend her from what he was saying.

"I don't want to be _like_ anyone," she said. "I want to be myself."

He smiled wryly at the contortion of words.

"Who's Kimberly?"

Jenny narrowed her eyes. She grit her teeth together—she didn't remember saying that, but considering what her behavior had been like, she didn't doubt it was true. She kept waiting for Gibbs to look away from her, and when he didn't she considered snapping at him about his own reticence concerning his father—but she remembered how much it had hurt when he'd used the same tactic in Stillwater, so she swallowed her pride.

"She was my mother."

"Was?" Gibbs said carefully. "She's dead?"

"She is to me," Jenny said tartly. She glared at him, chewing on the inside of her lip. "I lived in Tennessee for a few months when I was six because that's where my grandparents lived when she abandoned me with them. My dad was in Bosnia," she said aggressively.

Gibbs stared, taken aback.

"I'm sure she didn't mean to abandon—"

"I sure as hell didn't give her a leave of absence," Jenny interrupted icily.

Gibbs compressed his lips, and he nodded. She looked at him for another moment, deciding if she was going to yell at him or tell him more, and then she sighed and looked away, chewing on her lip again.

"She drove all the way from Virginia to leave me in Tennessee," she said faintly, shaking her head. He leaned up, sitting forward and throwing his arms over his knees, and tilted his head, trying to catch her eye again.

She looked back at him and blinked.

"I hate her, Jethro, okay?" she said bluntly. "She's ruined Thanksgiving, and she hasn't been to one in eleven years."

Gibbs nudged her with his shoulder. She tilted her head, smiled, and changed the subject abruptly.

"It's long enough after dinner for pecan pie and a Christmas movie."

"It's Thanksgiving."

"I always end Thanksgiving by watching the first Christmas movie of the season!" Jenny retorted. She leaned over and snuggled up to his side. "_The Grinch_, the one with Jim Carrey—it never gets old."

"What do you mean, it never gets old?" retorted Gibbs, giving her an outraged look. "It's new! It's not even the real Grinch!"

"Jethro," Jenny laughed. "You're being a Grinch about watching _The Grinch_."

Before he could retaliate with a snide remark, her door flew completely open, and the Colonel banged his fist loudly on the frame.

"This door is supposed to be open at a ninety-degree angle!"

* * *

When Jenny and Gibbs settled themselves in the bonus room with dessert, coffee, and the Christmas movie, Jasper made sure that door was open at the proper angle before he settled in to finish some last minute Army business.

He stubbornly resisted the urge to go marching upstairs and glare in the bonus room every five minutes to make sure no illicit shenanigans were going on, and he was proud of himself for doing so.

He was also considerably distracted from his work because he'd happened to overhear Jenny discussing Kimberly—albeit violently—with Gibbs, and Jenny never voluntarily discussed her mother.

He had mixed feelings about it—on one hand, he was glad she might have found someone who would draw all that toxic anger out of her, because the Colonel really did hate how much she internalized her feelings about her mother. At the same time, he was annoyed that Jenny refused to talk to him about it—after all, he was the one who had known and loved Kimberly best; he could shed more light on the things Jenny might not have understood. Then again, to Jenny, Kimberly would always probably be the ignorant, flighty, and disappointing mother whose last words to her—according to Jenny's grandmother—had been _'Stay with Grammy. Mommy needs a break from you.'_

Jasper wasn't sure he'd ever be able to talk to Jenny about her mother, because Jenny was too busy hating Kimmy to understand how Jasper could possibly _not_ hate her.

He wondered if Gibbs and Jenny had some sort of similar mother situation, and if that's why Jenny had gotten testy about it at dinner.

He heard footsteps on the stairs and thought it must be them—he checked his watch; it was after midnight. Startled, he stood up, his brow furrowing, and started around his desk. Ike appeared in the hallway and sat down, wagging his tail and barking softly. Jasper looked at him warily, and the dog stood up again, still wagging his tail.

"Anything funny going on up there, bud?" Jasper asked, starting down the hall and scratching the German Shepherd's ears as he passed.

He took the stairs slowly but two at a time, and prowled into the bonus room—where the TV was still flickering and his daughter and her boyfriend were innocently asleep on the touch. At least—it looked innocent. To be sure, the Colonel crept closer, zeroing in on hand placement—he grit his teeth and decided hands were fine, but cutesy cuddling was definitely not, and right as he stepped forward again, Gibbs eyes flew open and he glared at his surroundings warily, completely alert.

The Colonel stopped, and straightened up. He cocked one eyebrow, slightly sheepish to be caught creeping around his own house, and slightly impressed with Gibbs' highly aware Marine performance.

Gibbs lifted his arm and looked at his watch. He cringed.

Jenny licked her lips in her sleep. Jasper put his hands to his lips and marched over, crouching next to Jenny.

"Jennifer," he growled gently. She whined at him and swatted him away. "Jennifer, go to bed," Jasper ordered.

Gibbs nudged her helpfully, and she got up, blinking blearily—almost totally out of it, and glared at Jasper.

"You need a couple hours if you're still plannin' on dragging 'im shopping," Jasper advised.

Jenny turned and looked sleepily at Gibbs. She glared at him, too, and then stood up and stumbled out of the room, searching for her bed. The Colonel stood, watched her go, and then turned back to Gibbs. He narrowed his eyes sternly.

"You sleep in here," he said. "Your ass stays _on this couch."_

Gibbs looked a little wary, and taken aback.

"I don't mind goin' home, sir," he started uncertainly.

"No," snapped the Colonel. "It's stupid for you to drive back to Quantico if the plans are to start shoppin' at four a.m. You sleep here," he repeated. "TV's yours. I'm goin' to bed after I let the dog out," he informed Gibbs. "And when I do, I'm lockin' you in here."

Gibbs' brow furrowed.

"Your doors lock from the outside?" he asked skeptically.

"They do with my Taliban-proof System," growled the Colonel. "I shove a chair under the door handle, you're trapped in," he elaborated, and then narrowed his eyes. "It works. I did it in Kandahar."

Gibbs stared at him, a little awestruck—right, as if he was going to tempt the anger of a man who held off the Taliban by chucking a chair in front of a door they were coming through.

* * *

"I still can't believe he let you stay the night."

"In the bonus room," Gibbs said.

"It's still a huge deal."

"He _barricaded_ me in."

"I know, he's so cute," Jenny trilled, wrinkling her nose at the Colonel's antics. Her father had not only barricaded Gibbs in with the chair—he'd made the dog sleep outside that door, and placed bubble wrap in front of Jenny's, so when she woke up to the screeching of her shopping alarm and went to start coffee, the cracking of the bubble wrap had set Ike barking like mad.

They were lazily navigating through one of the early bird open shops at an upscale mall in Virginia—Jenny had forced Gibbs to drive out to Tyson's Corner because they had killer deals on Black Friday, and she wanted to get Holly something from a designer store. She was carrying her own bags, and Gibbs had his arm slung around her waist and his hand in her back pocket while she tried to figure out which coffee shops in the area were open via her cell phone—they needed what had to be their third or fourth cup of the early morning.

"Isn't the chair thing a fire hazard?"

"What kind of fire were you planning on starting in my house?" Jenny retorted, tilting her head and squinting at her phone. "Oh—okay, there's an open vender right up—here," she pointed, gesturing around a moment and then shoving her phone into her back pocket. "Why didn't you let me buy you that silk bow tie in Brooks Brothers?" she whined dramatically.

Gibbs glared at her—just glared; he thought that was all that was necessary.

"But the salesman's name was _Ducky_ Mallard, Jethro. Like, his name was Donald, and Mallard, and they called him Ducky because of _ducks_—"

"I think you're sleep deprived."

"Ducky, Jethro!" she spoke over him, giggling. She shook her head and leaned into him a little. She held up the hand with all of her bags in it, showing him the little black one. "At least Ike will enjoy his little silk bow tie, if you won't wear it."

"Where the hell'm I supposed to wear a bow tie, Jen? Sniper training classes?"

"You're supposed to be taking me to Palena at some point," she retorted saucily.

"Won't catch me dead in a bow tie."

"What if I said I'd take all my clothes off right in front of you, but only if you wore the bow tie."

He paused.

"…No." he decided.

"Good," she said lightly, straightening up and breaking away a little. "I was bluffing—do you mind if we stop in here before we grab coffee and breakfast?"

She was pointing to a little store off to the right full of perfumes. Gibbs rolled his eyes good-naturedly and allowed himself to be dragged in—they had started shopping at four a.m., and he was pretty sure his eyes were still glazed over from trying to pretend he was somewhere else.

The only good thing about it was he was getting a feel for what Jenny liked, which meant he might find it easier to actually get her a Christmas present later—but he preferred not to stress about that right now. He hated buying gifts. He thought it was so impersonal. But he hadn't yet figured out what he could do for her that wouldn't be too over the top or inappropriate considering at Christmas, they'd only have been seeing each other five months.

"I'm attempting to establish a signature scent," Jenny snorted, perusing the rows of perfumes. "Late teens, early twenties—it's a good time to experiment, and then I'll settle on one classic."

She shot him a look and grinned.

"Preference?" she asked, as she sprayed a spritz of _Chanel No. 19_ on a little piece of cardboard.

Gibbs plucked that bottle away from her with a distasteful look and wrinkled his nose.

"No," he growled sternly. "Ex wore that."

"Oooh," Jenny drawled, arching a brow. "An ex," she repeated, and moved along the line. She stopped at a colourful row with bottles bearing images of horses on them and picked up a green one thoughtfully, before moving down to a selection of something called _Juicy_, making a face, and settling in front of a different designer intently.

Jenny picked up a cute miniature bottle of perfume and tentatively inhaled it. Gibbs moseyed up behind her and watched her play with it.

"I like this," she said, waving the rolling applicator around. "It's experimentation without commitment. Brilliant," she mused. "Do I smell delicious?" she asked dramatically—the perfume was something called Honey, and there were bumblebees on the applicator.

Gibbs shrugged, standing right behind her.

"Like the way you smell without it."

"What exactly do I smell like without it?" she demanded, turning her head slightly.

He touched his nose to her hair and inhaled loudly, pretending to think.

"Trouble," he deadpanned.

She snorted with laughter at the lame joke and turned around, holding up the little perfume roller.

"I want it," she decided. "It's called Honey, and if you really do catch more flies with honey, I'm sure it will keep you around," she decided loftily. "I am a Queen bee, after all."

He rolled his eyes, and then gave her a thoughtful look and snatched it out of her hands, marching over to the counter to buy it for her. Startled, she went after him—the tiny heels of her red boots clicking on the floor.

"Jethro," she protested in a hiss, when she caught up to him as he was pulling out his wallet. "You don't have to," she broke off. "Jethro," she admonished again.

He shrugged off her protests—she smiled when he bought her things, and a little blush touched her cheeks, and he liked that, so he didn't mind buying her things. Having a girlfriend who never even gave the impression that he should spoil her was against the grain, and it only made him want to give.

She took his wallet from him when he got his cash out—Gibbs was a cash man; there was a shiny debit card in his wallet that he never touched—and she flipped through the folds absently, bending it to her nose to breathe in the leathery sort of coffee-ish dusty smell that characterized Gibbs and the things he wore and carried with him. He handed her the change and she flipped his wallet around, placing it back in for him, and then straightened up to leave with the purchase and promptly dropped his wallet on the floor clumsily.

"I really need more coffee," she said, bending to pick it up—along with the few bills and the—picture? —that had fallen out with it.

He didn't mind her shuffling things together for him, and as she put the money back in and then looked at the photo, she said nothing—until she did a double take.

It was a small, professional photo of a teenager girl—the kind you got after school pictures—in pearls and a graduation drape. She had freckles, a bright smile, and the most shocking blue eyes Jenny had ever seen—and red hair; red, _red_ hair. It was messy and wavy and framed her face like Jenny's—except Jenny's was longer, and this girl in the picture seemed sad even through her wide smile.

Jenny had stopped to look at the picture, and it was a moment before Gibbs realized she wasn't next to him. He turned, furrowed his brow, and strode back to see what she'd found in his wallet—and then he remembered. Jenny tilted her head thoughtfully, so intent on the photo she didn't notice—she was positive this was the girl Jackson Gibbs had mistaken her for in the grocery store, though after looking closer she agreed—it was only the hair that was the same.

She puckered her lips, questioning, and then suddenly the wallet and the picture were taken from her hands in a slightly aggressive way, and Gibbs was shoving them both back into his pocket without a word.

She blinked, folding her arms and looking at him uncertainly. She raised her brows.

"Is that the _Chanel 19_ girl?" she asked warily—but somehow, she knew it wasn't. He'd seemed disdainful when he mentioned an ex-girlfriend wore _Chanel 19_, and when she asked him about the girl in the picture, there was pain and a little bit of guilt and anger in his eyes.

He hated for Jenny to think this girl was an ex-girlfriend, but in a crowded mall with so many people around—he couldn't talk about her, and he didn't know how to say that without being gruff or curt or—lashing out, so he handled it with less finesse than he'd have liked.

He just shrugged.

"She's a girl I know."

Jenny looked at him balefully.

"Her picture is in your wallet," she pointed out warily—that kind of signified a close relationship.

"Knew her in Stillwater," he said gruffly, his eyes flashing.

Jenny chewed on her lip. She looked around her, considering where they were, and she decided it was the worst place in the world to fight him about it—but she couldn't deny that there was a little insecurity gripping her over it. After all, it was a picture of a woman in his wallet—crinkled and faded, as if he'd kept it for a reason, and for a long time.

She thought he was too young to have some sort of tragic love story, but then he was older than her, and maybe he had—and this picture was probably the face of the Stillwater girl she was starting to piece together; the girl who had written that he shouldn't put up for bullshit, the girl Jackson had mistaken her for—maybe the girl he'd helped out of trouble.

Jenny shrugged her shoulders, and stepped closer, nodding her head in the direction of the coffee vendor.

"Breakfast," she suggested. "Coffee," she said neutrally, holding her tongue and meeting his eyes.

In order to keep the peace for the rest of the holiday, she filed the girl in the picture away in the back of her mind—because he'd backed off about her mother when she'd asked, and because maybe she didn't want to know what the Stillwater girl meant to him.

* * *

_feedback appreciated!_

-_alexandra_


	9. Daisy Buchanon and Ariel Moore

_A/N:__ I feel like this is a good point for you to note/be reminded that Gibbs, though still Gibbs, is less prone to being a completely stone-faced, untouchable rock in this fic. He's by no means a fount of happy-go-lucky emotion, but he's a lot less inaccessible and he responds to people [read: Jenny] more willingly. Remember, he hasn't really "lost" that significant other/child, so he hasn't been traumatized into being scared to connect. _

_Chapter Seven_

_Daisy Buchanan and Ariel Moore_

* * *

Jenny stood outside of the Quantico base apartment, rummaging through her backpack for the key Gibbs had given her—she hadn't put it on her keychain yet, because she always threw her keys into a bowl in the hall at home, and she didn't want to discuss the fact that she _had_ a key to Gibbs' apartment with her father just yet.

The Colonel knew she was occasionally _at_ the apartment—as long as it was within the allowed parameter of curfew and her quota of time allotted to Gibbs at the moment—but she sensed that the idea of her having a key would provoke him to threat level orange vigilance, so she was omitting it for the moment.

It wasn't as if she were _abusing_ the privilege—for example, she was here this afternoon to pick up a bottle of scotch Gibbs had procured her as a Christmas gift for the Colonel. She had spent two hours last weekend working on college applications and hanging out with him, and then half a Sunday finishing an English essay—well, okay, half of half of that Sunday was making out—but that aside, she totally thought she could handle the responsibility of having a key.

She found it, blew her hair out of her eyes, and unlocked the door—or so she thought. When she tried to open it, it was locked. She realized, with a roll of her eyes and a sigh of annoyance, that he must have left it unlocked—again. When she'd teased him about giving her a key and making her feel like a grown up, she hadn't expected him to have her one made—but he had, and accompanied it with the caveat that he never locked the door anyway.

She slid the key into her pocket and slipped into the apartment—she figured he wouldn't be home yet; she had just gotten off work at about four-thirty, and he usually got home about five-thirty. She shut the door and wandered in, looking around with a smirk—he had practically nothing in his apartment other than bare necessities. She noticed Tobias's old Nintendo sixty-four sitting on the couch—so Fornell must have been over recently.

Chewing on the inside of her lip, she stopped when she saw the heavy jacket of his ACUs thrown over the couch. Her brow furrowed, and she slid her backpack off, dropping it onto the couch—maybe he _was_ home? She should have texted him to tell him she'd be early—she'd gotten off work a half hour before she was supposed to. She shrugged, and walked towards his bedroom.

"Jethro?" she called, and poked her head in.

He wasn't in there. She turned around and stepped to the left, looking casually towards the bathroom. Except—too late, she noticed the door was open, and the shower was running, and she was just about to alert him to her presence when the water shut off and he grabbed a towel off the hook. He began shaking the towel over his head and stepped out of the shower and—because of the angle of the mirror and the fact that he was standing there completely _stark_ naked—she saw _way_ more than she'd bargained for.

She was stunned for a moment, so all she did was stare with her lips slightly parted—and then she realized that if she didn't move, he'd finish drying his head and shoulders and wrap the towel around himself and thus see her—she turned on her heel and darted quietly into the living room.

She folded her hands across herself tightly and stared straight ahead, her eyes wide.

She wasn't sure—whether to giggle or squeal or gasp or—well, she did not really know the etiquette in a situation where one accidentally saw one's boyfriend naked.

"Jen?" he called, voice muffled.

She closed her eyes tightly and bit her lip.

"Er," she began hoarsely, and cleared her throat. "Um," she said loudly.

She ran her hand through her hair and paced towards the kitchen, and then she heard a drawer slam, footsteps—and she turned around and he was standing there clad in jeans, a towel draped around his neck and a t-shirt in his hands.

"Thought I heard you," he said gruffly, arching his brow.

She let out a small squeak and ran her hand through her hair again.

"You scared me," she managed.

He gave her a look, shaking out the t-shirt in his hands and snorting skeptically.

"I just called your name," he pointed out—he had warned her he had heard her moving around.

She shrugged, her hand still lingering near her face—which she was one hundred percent sure was flushed. She was focusing all of her energy on looking at his face—which meant meeting his eyes, which made her wrinkle her nose and let out a quiet giggle. He paused and glared at her. He snapped the towel off his neck and threw it on the couch, pulling his shirt over his head.

"Scotch is in the kitchen," he said, walking forward.

She stood rooted to the spot and closed her eyes lightly, sending up a silent prayer and willing herself to be cool about this whole thing—there was no need to act like a little kid just because she'd seen his—

"Jen," he said, peering at her from the kitchen. "What the hell's wrong with you?" he demanded, exasperated.

She leapt into action and stormed towards him, swallowing hard.

"Nothing," she managed airily, and swept into the kitchen. She spotted the pristine bottle of old scotch—scotch Gibbs had won, on a twist of luck, in a card game with his old drill sergeant, and reached for it, examining the label.

"You off work early?" he asked.

She did not look at him right away.

"Oh, no," she said, cocking an eyebrow and glancing up. "I just decided to leave without warning."

He rolled his eyes at her sarcasm and leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek and slipping past her towards the refrigerator. Jenny bit her lip and cringed a little—because she accidentally pictured him naked _again_ and had the incredible urge to _giggle_ again.

"Dad's going to love this," she forced out lightly. "It's so aged," she murmured. "He'll practically adopt you."

"Adopt me?" Gibbs snorted, shutting the refrigerator. He had an apple in his hands when he leaned on the counter next to her. "That a proposal?"

"Nah, I mean adopt you like the son he never had," she said breezily, looking at the bottle. She sighed heavily. "Of course, in that case, you'll have to stop sticking your tongue in my mouth."

He leaned over and stuck his tongue out at her, wiggling it around. She reached up and shoved her hand against his mouth, laughing slightly, and then she leaned over and kissed him, closing her eyes briefly. He pulled away and took a bite of the apple, letting his eyes wander over her.

"You want to go to dinner, then?" he asked.

She sighed.

"Yes," she whined, "but, I have college applications to finish—I want it so that I only have two left to do during Christmas break, so I need to finish them this week—you know, because exams start next week," she sighed.

He shrugged, nodding his head and crunching into the apple again.

"You still cookin' me dinner on Saturday?" he drawled.

She pushed her hair back and looked over at him, meeting his eyes. She bit her lip, laughed, and then nodded.

"Yeah," she said, wrinkling her nose a little. She tilted her head. "I'll be over at six," she warned, and grabbed the bottle of scotch at the neck, brushing past him and chewing the inside of her lip.

He turned and followed her, watching her take her things from the couch and push her hair around nervously. He watched her warily, sensing something was distracting her, and she looked up at him. Her eyes flicked over his t-shirt—it was clinging to his chest, because he'd been half-wet when he put it on—and then down towards his waist, and she lifted her eyes to the ceiling.

"Jen," he growled, giving her a look when she caught his eye—she looked almost guilty.

She flushed, shook her head, and walked up to him, resting her hand on his shoulder and giving him a quick, sort of chaste kiss goodbye. She snatched the apple from his hand and took it with her—and he whirled around, staring after her as the apartment door shut, wondering what the hell had gotten into her that had her acting like—well, for lack of better words, a simpering schoolgirl.

* * *

Jenny shut her bedroom door with her knee after a furtive last glance around the hallway. She turned, balancing three mugs of hot chocolate, and dispersed the cozy drinks to her friends before taking up her customary spot in the window seat, crossing her legs, and looking around the room in a business-like manner. It had been a laid back evening of pizza and lazy college applications, and later there would be movies—but at the moment, her father was absorbed in a conference call with Rene Benoit, and she knew there was no chance he'd prowl around and overhear this conversation.

Nina sipped on her cocoa, curled up on Jenny's bed, and raised her eyebrows.

"So," Nina began. "What's this dramatic occurrence you've been teasing since Thursday?"

That's exactly what Jenny had texted the both of them—_'there's been a dramatic occurrence involving the boyfriend'—_before she'd decided the story was better told in person, and planned a sleepover for Friday night. Which, to Holly's ultimate frustration, meant she'd refused to say anything else until—now.

Jenny held her hot chocolate in her palms, her elbows resting on her knees, and looked pointedly from Holly to Nina.

"Ladies," she began loftily, lifting her nose into the air. She winced, smiling a little, and then sighed, laughing a little—she was being silly, acting as if it were of such importance, when really she was still a little flustered by it.

Holly gave an exasperated groan, and Jenny sucked in her breath. She crinkled her nose.

"I accidentally saw Jethro naked," she revealed.

She flushed slightly, lifted her mug to her lips, and waited. Nina stared at her a moment—and then she giggled cutely, and buried her face in her own cocoa. Holly, however, set her mug aside and dramatically sprawled on the floor, shaking her head.

"Fuck—Jenny, I was expecting to hear that he fingered you—"

"_Holly_!"

"—at like, the _least_," Holly finished, ignoring Nina's outburst. Holly lifted her fair head and glared daggers at Jenny, who glared right back from the window seat vantage point.

The redhead took another pointed sip of her hot chocolate, and then stuck her tongue out at Holly aggressively before tossing her hair back and chewing on her lip. She lowered her mug, resting it on her thigh, and then eased up on her glare and looked at them both.

"C'mon, guys—input!" she encouraged. "I walked in on him _completely_ naked."

"How naked?" Nina asked loudly.

"Like, bare-ass nude."

"Wait, you _only_ saw his ass?" Holly asked critically.

Jenny flushed.

"I also saw his," she paused delicately, quickly deciding what word she wanted to use. "…cock."

Holly snorted. Nina burst into laughter.

"What did he say?" she asked through her giggles.

Jenny squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face away.

"He doesn't _know_ I saw!" she admitted.

It was Holly's turn to sort of shriek out-loud. She rolled over onto her back, and then straightened to a sitting position, eyes on Jenny gleefully.

"Wait—give me a play-by-play."

"I got to his apartment early to get that bottle of scotch for Dad," Jenny explained slowly. "So, I wandered around, called his name, thought he might be there, and the way his bathroom is—well, the door was open, and he was just getting out of the shower, and he grabbed a towel and started drying off his head and shoulders and kind of bent over, and I saw everything and—"

"And you didn't alert him to your presence?" Holly interrupted.

"_No_! No I just sort of—ran away!" she answered, leaning back and burying her face in her mug again—for a few steaming gulps of cocoa.

"I would have, too," Nina piped up sympathetically.

Holly covered her mouth, snickering into her hands. Jenny sighed heavily, peering down into her hot chocolate.

"Well, um," Holly started, arching her eyebrows.

Jenny flushed, and ignored her.

Nina gave a sort of cackle, and Holly rolled her eyes. She sat up on her knees and threw her hands out, miming shaking Jenny.

"How was he?" Holly demanded.

Jenny gave her an outraged look.

"Don't give me that!" Holly squealed. She bounced excitedly. "I take it you didn't run because he's a eunuch," she laughed dryly.

"No," Jenny growled, shooting her a glare. "I didn't want to—embarrass him or, well," she faltered, and raised her eyes to the ceiling. She smirked, in a comically innocent sort of way.

"You looked for a minute, Jenny," coaxed Holly. "Admit it."

After a moment, Jenny silently nodded.

"And?" Holly laughed loudly. She smacked her hands on her knees. "Promising, disappointing," she wiggled her eyebrows, "big?"

Jenny threw herself backwards, leaning into the window. She shrugged, her cheeks flushed, her heart racing.

"Give me a frame of reference," she choked out.

Nina held up her hands. Jenny shook her head. Nina moved her hands, Jenny thought about it for a moment—Holly dove over and knocked Nina's hands down, and then gave Jenny a superior look.

"Smaller or larger than your average roll of silverware?" she asked matter-of-factly.

"Ooh, good one," Nina laughed.

Jenny chewed on her bottom lip, thinking.

"Same size," she decided.

Holly smirked.

"You should get on that," she advised, crawling back to her hot cocoa and picking it up smugly. "His dick, I mean."

Jenny giggled, and chucked a decorative pillow at Holly for good measure. Holly laughed and took a few protracted sips of her hot cocoa, eyeing Jenny. She tilted her head.

"You didn't even mention you caught a glimpse?" she asked.

Jenny shook her head, still chewing on her lip.

"I just—well, I was so, startled," she tried to explain, and then laughed again. "I had to force myself not to look at his crotch after that and," she trailed of, snorting.

It really was distracting her, so to speak. She was spending the evening with him tomorrow, and she had the distinct feeling she'd be unable to act normal unless she just confessed her little clandestine viewing. She rolled her eyes lightly and lifted her shoulders.

"It's just not how I envisioned seeing his cock for the first time!" she burst out in a whisper, her cheeks flushing brightly again.

"Naturally," Holly said breezily. She dramatically leaned against Jenny's bed, and smirked. "You know—the first time I saw Mark's, it was really quite sweet, he was taking me home from the Mathlete tournament, and he leaned over, and he asked me in quite the gentlemanly way, to give his dick a hug with my mouth," she related nostalgically. "Adorable."

Nina snorted, and Jenny shook her head good-naturedly—only Holly. Holly turned sharp eyes on Jenny, though, not lost for too long on memory lane.

"Ah," she said, honing in. "You _have_ thought about seeing him naked, then," she noted, refusing to let Jenny get off that easily.

Jenny straightened a little, giving her a mildly wary look, and shrugged, touching her lips to her mug. She thought about putting an end to the conversation, and then she shrugged her shoulders again.

"I—yeah," she admitted vaguely.

It wasn't like she _hadn't_ thought about sex with him. She just hadn't really—put any thought into action.

Holly seemed satisfied, and Nina was quiet for a moment. She tilted her head and looked at Jenny for a moment. She parted her lips hesitantly.

"Has he asked you about sex?" she asked curiously.

Jenny shook her head with nonchalance, and Holly perked up a little, eyes wide.

"How far have you guys gone?" she asked.

"Holly," groaned Jenny, exasperated. "We've only been together since, like, August."

Holly gave her a slightly annoyed look.

"Look, Jenny, that doesn't always matter, okay? You know I had sex with Mark like four months after dating him, so maybe think for five seconds before you say something that can be taken as judgmental," she remarked edgily. "I'm just interested in your life."

"It's my _personal_ life," Jenny retorted. "I don't know why you think it's your business, just because you over share."

"Get over yourselves," Nina said, snorting at them both and rolling her eyes.

Jenny was silent a moment, and then she inclined her head.

"I told you he copped a feel in October," she relented.

"Yeah, but that was before your Dad made you take your time out," Holly said, a little impatient. She sipped on her cocoa a little suggestively.

Jenny tapped her teeth against her mug and blew air out slowly through her nose. She was wary discussing sex with Holly because she got the distinct impression Holly thought she was naïve—and she hated that. She narrowed her eyes slightly.

"I straddle him when we make-out," she said bravely. She steeled herself slightly, thinking over the last few times it had gotten—for her at least—a little hot and heavy. "He always pushes my shirt up and grips my back when I'm on his lap," she hesitated. "Last week, he slipped his hands in my jeans instead, not in the pockets like he usually does, like…_in_ my jeans."

Holly raised her eyebrows.

Nina tilted her head back.

"I hate to be the Disney princess over here, but can you elaborate?" she drawled sarcastically.

Jenny smiled, heartened a little by Nina's confusion.

"He grabbed my ass, Nina," she elaborated in layman's terms. She laughed into her hot chocolate, her pulse jumping at the memory. "You know, under my jeans and my panties. And he sort of—pulled me against him. Hard."

Holly chewed on a fingernail, listening patiently and thoughtfully.

"I kinda miss just making out," she muttered to herself. She tilted her head. "Gibbs hasn't mentioned sex at all?"

Jenny moved her head.

"He—no," she said honestly. She paused a moment. She was glad he hadn't, but she suddenly didn't want to talk about how nervous she was in front of Holly and Nina. She shrugged. "There are some things I want to sort out first," she muttered vaguely. She didn't expound, but she meant she wanted to know more about the Stillwater girl before she committed herself to someone who had a past to overcome.

Holly popped her finger from her mouth and pointed at Jenny wryly.

"Next time, you should touch him," she said. "Like, unzip his jeans and get your hands on him—if you want to, you know," she said, and then giggled. "I know you're still recovering from your first penis," she added, shaking her head.

Jenny groaned, and then straightened up—Nina caught her eye, and she grinned wickedly, suddenly spurred by the desire to shock Holly.

"Hol," she said, arching a brow smugly. "Jethro, he's not my first dick."

Holly stopped laughing and scrambled to her feet, zeroing in on Jenny seriously.

"You fuckin' little—what?" she growled. "Who—not Todd?" she asked, spitting the name distastefully, referring to Jenny's brief dating of that senior last year.

Nina laughed out loud, her eyes sparkling, and Jenny shot her a look. The redhead glared at the Russian until she caught on, and then Jenny gestured gallantly for Nina to do the honors. Nina composed herself, and made a mocking show of cheering Jenny with her mug.

"She gave Tony DiNozzo a hand job at homecoming last year," Nina revealed loftily.

Jenny lifted her mug to Nina, and Holly let out a shriek that mixed outrage and delight and stormed forward.

"You jerked off Tony—"

Jenny leapt up, set her mug down on the seat, and slapped her hand over Holly's mouth; half-laughing, half-terrified the Colonel would hear. She tackled her friend onto her bed and Holly burst into shocked laughter. Jenny rolled off of her and then whacked her with a pillow, sitting up and pushing her hair out of her face.

Holly sat up and snatched the pillow, hugging it.

"You jerked off Tony DiNozzo?" she hissed dramatically. "Jennifer Shepard—I am your _best_ friend, how could you _not_ tell me!"

"He was a freshman," Jenny hissed, flushing.

"A hot freshman!" Holly giggled.

"Why do you think Jeanne Benoit hates her?" Nina snorted, looking primly from behind her mug.

Holly groaned excitedly and pushed her hair back, grinning at Jenny in a mixture of respect.

"I am beyond offended that I just found out but—I mean, why?"

Jenny shrugged, biting her lip.

"I just—it's hard to explain," she said lamely. "I was curious, he's a charmer, so I just—tried it."

Holly whistled. She tilted her head, and Jenny shrugged.

"He seemed to like it," she said wickedly, and Holly nearly fell off the bed laughing.

Jenny let out a breath—she felt she'd successfully distracted Holly from pushing her to talk about Gibbs—which was good, because talking about intimacy with Jethro made her think about the Stillwater girl, and she felt nervous—and besides, Jethro was different than Tony DiNozzo had been, and she wanted to make her choices carefully—

"Hey, sexperts," Nina called dramatically, leaning forward. "Research question."

"Ay, Dr. Alexander?" Holly asked primly, saluting Nina.

Nina pursed her lips primly and raised her eyebrows.

"Tell your wide-eyed innocent friend—what does a real, non-HBO, non-pixeled Internet porn, in-the-flesh penis look like?"

Jenny and Holly shared a glance. Jenny tilted her head.

"Hmm."

"Well?" Nina prompted analytically.

Jenny snapped.

"You know the second Star Wars?"

"Which second Star Wars?" Nina asked.

"The real second Star Wars."

"Empire, then."

"Yes."

"Yes!" Holly laughed suddenly, apparently picking up on Jenny's train of thought.

Jenny arched a brow.

"There's the part where Han Solo hides the Millennium Falcon in the asteroid crater, but it turns out they're hiding in that space worm?"

"Your point?" Nina drawled.

"Space worms," Holly piped up, in conclusion.

Jenny nodded seriously.

"Space worms," she affirmed. "Penises look like them."

Nina cocked an eyebrow, and then very stoically lifted her cocoa to her lips and took a long, pensive sip.

She nodded in a scientific sort of way.

"A much more unique comparison than the light saber euphemism I was expecting."

* * *

"Jennifer."

Jenny squinted into the study as she shut the front door and let Ike off his leash. She placed the leash on the side table and stepped over to the stairs, sitting down so she could give Ike some of his customary post-walk love.

"Colonel," she responded in the same deep, serious tone—she recognized the tone as one that preceded a lecture.

Her father stalked into the hall, stopping next to the staircase and peering down at his daughter seriously. She flashed him an innocent smile, and went back to puckering her lips and praising her big baby of a German Shepherd. She knew he was going to lecture her, _again_, about how much of a privilege it was that he was allowing her to go spend an evening at Gibbs' apartment, and she didn't want to offend him by rolling her eyes.

"I have to go to the Pentagon," he growled distastefully, folding his arms.

She looked up warily.

"It's Saturday," she pointed out skeptically. "It's Saturday at five."

"The U.S. military does not sleep," retorted the Colonel—and at that, Jenny did roll her eyes, though she did so in good humor. "There's been an incident," he said curtly. "Chances are, I'll be out until two a.m."

"Did something sketchy happen in Iraq?"

"Something 'sketchy' is always happening in Iraq," Jasper said, vaguely and ominously. He narrowed his eyes and looked down at Jenny seriously. "I considered telling you to stay home, since I will not be able to monitor your curfew," he told her, and her cheeks paled slightly. "I also considered demanding Gibbs come here, and Noemi show up to keep an eye on you."

"Dad," Jenny sighed, exasperated.

He held up his hand.

"I decided neither of those options lets me know if I can trust you. It simply restricts you," he said logically. "You met my conditions up until Thanksgiving, and you've maintained those conditions and followed your guidelines to the letter in the few weeks since," he acknowledged. "That warrants a commendation and, I suppose, a promotion."

"Yes, sir," Jenny mocked, saluting him. She grinned—and raised her eyebrows.

"Your curfew is still eleven o'clock on the dot, Jennifer," Jasper said, "and I expect you to refrain from drinking or engaging in any stupid shenanigans while you're on base with Gibbs—that includes anything remotely physical," he added warily.

He eyed her for a moment.

"In other words, I'm slackening your leash a little," he growled. "You employ good judgment, keep showing me I can trust you, and maybe you'll get to stay out until midnight for Prom," he added, a little sarcastically.

Jenny stood up gracefully, casually brushing Ike's fur off of her black jeans. She leaned forward and took her father's arm, rising up on tiptoes to kiss him innocently on the cheek.

"You can trust me, Daddy," she said earnestly, stepping over to grab her car keys from the bowl on the counter. "Oh—but about that midnight thing," she started breezily. She chewed her lip a moment. "Start mulling over the idea of me spending New Year's Eve with Gibbs. I'll need, you know, logically, at least one o'clock!"

She winked, waved a little, and darted out the front door before the Colonel could really process the idea.

* * *

The problem, Jenny realized as she drove the familiar route to Quantico, with her calculated refusal to dwell on the incident during which she'd accidentally seen Gibbs naked, was the fact that she was now expected to spend an entire evening with him without letting on that it had happened. She wasn't exactly sure why she felt it needed to remain a secret—again, her refusal to dwell on it mean she hadn't exactly sorted out anything, and that amusing conversation with Nina and Holly didn't count. Laughing with her friends was different than—well, she wondered what it would be like to snuggle up for a movie with Gibbs now that she had an actual image of—

She bit her lip, biting back a giggle. Then, she groaned to herself—and to think, here she was, standing outside of his door, suddenly adamant that she should knock lest she surprise him in the nude. So knock she did—and she had to knock several times before she heard his footsteps, and the door swung open—and she took one look at his face and realized she wouldn't be able to act normal unless she came clean, so when he greeted her with-

"Jen, the door's unlocked."

-she looked him straight in the eye and immediately said:

"I saw you naked."

-and then pressed her lips together somberly, winced a little, and managed to give him a serious, deadpan glare.

He blinked at her, clearly taken aback, and then gave her a sort of confused glare and stepped to the side.

"Get in here," he growled. She grinned at him, and he rolled his eyes, shutting the door as she strolled in and ducked under his arm. She started off confidently towards his kitchen, and he took two quick strides and took her arm, puling her back. "_What_?" he demanded warily.

She pursed her lips a little, wrinkling her nose up and trying—and failing—to hold back a smile. She lifted her shoulders a little and sighed, tilting her head up.

"I know you heard me," she murmured.

"Yeah," he said, releasing her arm. "What do you mean, you saw me naked?" he scoffed.

She gave him another look, and then flounced off towards the kitchen, starting to speak as he caught up with her.

"I came over early the other day," she said lightly.

He stood in the entrance to the kitchen, folding his arms, and glared at her expectantly.

She leaned against the counter and shrugged, eyeing him pointedly.

"I—well, I thought you weren't home, and then I saw your ACU jacket on the couch, so I went looking in the bedroom, and," she paused. "I called your name, Jethro, but you didn't hear, and then I turned around and you were getting out of the shower," she explained. "_Naked_."

"'Course I was naked, I was in the shower!"

"And I am incredibly pleased that you keep to the functional norm of showering naked," she retorted solemnly.

She blushed a little and dipped her head, chewing on her lip. She glanced back up, and he was staring at her as if he didn't know what he was supposed to do. She stomped her foot a little—in a cute way—and glared at him insistently.

"Are you going to say anything?" she hissed, exasperated.

He carefully weighed his options and unfolded his arms walking towards her. He decided not to say anything, and it worked in his favor, because she just blushed even pinker, and when he was standing right in front of her, she sighed and covered her face, shaking her head. He laughed and pulled her hands away gently.

"You think I'd be mad at you or somethin'?" he asked.

"I don't know," she sighed, lifting her eyes to the ceiling. She bit her lip and started laughing quietly, closing her eyes lightly. "I just stood there _staring,_ trying to figure out if I should clear my throat, and then I just dashed into your living room," she laughed. She winced and leaned forward, shoving her forehead into his shoulder. "I don't know why I thought you'd care; I'm sure girls have seen you naked before."

She felt him shrug with nonchalance, and his hands fell to rest on her shoulders. She looked up after a moment and arched an eyebrow at him. He tilted his head, smirked, and she was suddenly wary—she recognized the ruthless glint of mischief in his eyes.

"You stared?"

She gasped, glaring at him.

"Stop!" she cried, her cheeks flushing.

He feigned an innocent look.

"What were you staring at?"

She pushed him away from her and whirled around to the pantry, climbing up on the counter to reach the shelf where he kept boxes of pasta—well, where she had preemptively and thoughtfully stocked boxes of pasta for the night she'd promised she'd cook for him.

"I wasn't staring at anything!" she tried.

"I'm a simple guy, Jen, I need you to be blunt."

Still blushing, she chewed her lip as she reached for the pasta.

"I was staring at your astonishingly large," she interrupted her own sentence with a shriek, when he placed his palms on her hips to keep her steady as she knelt on the counter, and she chose the pasta she wanted and spun around, landing hard on her butt on the counter and facing him. She crinkled her nose loftily. "Nose," she finished sweetly.

"Nose," he retorted skeptically.

She nodded defiantly.

"Yeah, Neanderthal," she teased sternly.

He cocked his eyebrows and she blushed again, throwing her head back and laughing a little nervously. He planted his palms on either side of her thighs and gave her a wicked look, narrowing his eyes. She sighed dramatically, as if awaiting her penance, and he didn't disappoint.

"You enjoy your little private viewing?"

She lifted her knee and shoved it into his ribs.

"Jethro," she warned.

"I'm serious," he asked. "Was it good for you?"

"Jesus Christ," she swore breathlessly, starting to laugh. She leaned forward and punched him in the shoulder, playfully trying to fight him back. He grinned at her, and he inclined his head, lowering his eyes to her lips and then suggestively to her chest.

"Am I gonna get a little tit for tat?" he asked.

She punched him again, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pursing her lips.

"Witty, Jethro," she growled, her breath catching in her throat a little.

"Can't let you get the upper hand in this relationship, Jen," he argued solemnly, reaching out teasingly with his hand.

His thumb and forefinger stroked the button on her olive green shirt and she met his eyes a little defiantly, wondering if he'd actually do it. She shifted on the counter and leaned forward, kicking out her legs and then tapping her heels lightly into the backs of his knees.

She lifted her hand and knocked his away, reaching for the button.

He grinned.

"Let me get that for you, Corporal," she said seriously, pushing the button through the hole so the neck of the shirt loosened a little.

His expression changed quickly—from casual amusement to complete attention, and she was a little startled by how suddenly he seemed to be completely captivated—simply because she'd unbuttoned the top of her shirt? She was sorry it meant so much to him—because she drew her hand away from her shirt, though she left the top button undone, and formed her finger into the shape of a gun, pointing it between his eyes.

He blinked, and then gave her a long-suffering look and bowed his head sheepishly at having been so easily tricked. She reached out and dragged her fingers gently through his hair, patronizing him, and she lifted his head up, chucking him under the chin. He glared at her, as if affronted by the affection, and she lifted her eyebrows.

"You can't want to see my breasts _that_ badly," she said with a small laugh, amused by his pouting.

He looked back at her earnestly.

"You have no idea."

Flattered, she leaned back a little, chewing on her lip. Still—she proceeded with caution; she picked up the pasta noodles, rattled them loudly, and left her buttons where they were—for the moment.

* * *

She had taken her time seasoning and preparing the chicken for the meal—and now with the sauce simmering on the stove and the meat in the oven, she turned on a burner and readied a pot of water for the pasta. Satisfied that the heat was on high enough, she placed a lid on the pot and scampered back into the living room, where she sat down in her place in front of Gibbs and smacked him on his knees.

"Let's go!"

"You gonna watch that water?"

"Got about seven minutes until it boils," she said critically, remembering Noemi's cooking instructions. She took the garish plastic pistol from the floor next to Gibbs' leg and held it up near her face, smirking. "Teach me how to shoot these ducks, Marine."

Gibbs grinned, and started by slipping his fingers into her belt loops and pulling her closer to him. He stretched his legs out on either side of her, pressing them up against hers, and pulled her shoulders back, taking the gun and messing around with the Nintendo to set up the old Duck Hunting game. He smiled, and she laughed as he made a show of running his hands over her in a dramatically lascivious way as he showed her the best way to hold the plastic controller. She leaned back a little, and straightened her shoulders.

"You really never played Nintendo?"

Jenny shook her head.

"God, no—when I was young we didn't even have heat, Daddy was crunching numbers so drastically," she said good-naturedly. "He's brilliant with money but, you know, means no Duck Hunting for little Jenny."

"You ever shot a real gun before?"

"The Colonel's glock," she answered. "Not a shotgun."

"Nothin' like a real one," Gibbs said, tapping the orange gun. "Look, you just sorta aim it, line up the target, and shoot. Ducks fall right outta the sky."

Jenny giggled.

"Too bad I can't add 'em to the chicken cacciatore," she teased.

"Might taste a little gamey."

Jenny elbowed him lightly, snorting under her breath.

"You're such a dork, Jethro," she murmured. She gestured for him to start the game, and waited for the ducks to fly.

Even though it was just an old game, it was kind of a tense moment, waiting for the ducks to start popping up in the animated sky. When they did, she gave a startled little shriek, and fired twice poorly—but Gibbs grabbed her hand and held it firmly, and then she got a better handle on what she was supposed to do, and took down every duck that popped up after.

"Ha!" she laughed smugly, pursing her lips smugly and narrowing her eyes. She turned slightly and caught Gibbs' eye. "Sniper training school's got nothin' on yours truly," she drawled, and then patted his leg insistently. "Start the ducks again!"

He obliged her, and he watched for a moment—until he decided to get bold, just because she was sitting so close to him, and she was warm, and she smelled good, and she'd seemed receptive to his slow advances—even though they weren't technically speaking about their physical pursuits. He slid his hands over her hips for a moment, and then inched up her shirt a little, running his palms and the pads of his fingers lightly over her spine, exploring the smooth warmth of her skin.

She faltered a little in the game, but she didn't say anything, so he leaned forward and pressed his lips to a sensitive spot just below her ear. He kissed her, and then he pressed his lips against her a little harder, and bit the skin gently. His hands moved up further, and she lowered the Duck Hunting gun to her lap and leaned backwards.

She tilted her head back, relaxing into him, and he grinned, attending to her neck more aggressively. She sucked in her breath a little anxiously, and he eased off a little, though he still moved his hands up until they slid under the clasps of her bra.

"Hey," she said softly.

He paused, and pulled back a little.

"No—don't stop," she corrected slowly. "I just—don't leave a mark," she advised, reaching behind her and pulling his head towards her neck again. "Colonel will—murder you."

Gibbs grinned, and drew his lips down from the spot he'd been worrying. He nudged the collar of her shirt out of his way and kissed her shoulder. He toyed thoughtfully with the clasp of her bra. He hesitated to unhook it—he didn't want to freak her out—but it was right there—

He went for it, deftly unhooking the two clasps and tugging on the material a little when it loosened. She swallowed hard and shivered, and he moved his hands over her ribs, roaming slowly upwards. Millions of thoughts raced through her head, and she grasped the plastic gun in her lap tightly, her other hand still resting in his hair. She swallowed again, and thought about what Holly had said—and tentatively, she moved her hand out of her lap and towards his thigh.

His muscles twitched and he raised his eyebrows—startled, but not displeased. She shifted back against him and moved her hand a little closer to his groin. He set his jaw, exercising self-control, and—he weighed his options in his mind. He wanted to pull her shirt off—he wanted it badly—but something told him she wasn't comfortable with that, so instead he moved his hands over her breasts under the shirt.

She gripped his leg.

"Jethro," she gasped in a high-pitched voice—but it wasn't necessarily a reprimanding voice.

He started to ask her if he could keep going—when he heard the water whistling from the kitchen, and swore quietly.

"Water's boiling," he muttered.

"Just the water?" she asked hoarsely.

She sat there, frozen, and then he slipped his hands from her gently and pinched her affectionately on the hip. She jumped up easily and hurried in, catching the top off the pot right before the water bubbled and boiled over messily. She took the box of pasta and poured it hastily into the boiling liquid, searching for something to stir with. A wooden spoon appeared in her hand, and it took her a moment to realize Gibbs had handed it to her. She took it, and he smirked at her encouragingly.

She gave him a look, and shook her head.

In the fluorescent kitchen lights, he noticed she was flushed, and there was a dark red spot on her lip where she'd been biting and worrying it and keeping it chapped—her eyes were bright, and he was glad he'd pulled her hair out of its ponytail earlier, because it looked damn good framing her face right now. She took a moment to stir the pasta into the water, and then she abandoned the spoon and stepped forward. She moved her arms—for a moment he thought she was hugging herself—and the next thing he knew, she was holding a light pink bra in her hands with a lopsided smile.

She swung it around, and then draped it over his shoulder.

Dumbstruck, he reached up and stroked the bra—and then stared at her in awe.

"How did you-?"

"Removal of the bra without removing the shirt is encoded in female DNA," she said breathlessly.

She bit her lip, looked at the bra on his shoulder, and then pushed her hair back and turned to the dinner in a business-like manner. He felt like she'd entrusted him with something, somehow, something more intangible than the bra—and he kept grasping it, breathing in the smell of her perfume and the aroma of dinner, and thinking sheepishly that he should back off a little.

He knew she'd said _don't stop_—but he kept thinking of Shannon, and how she'd always told him:

_Make sure girls say yes, okay Jethro? 'Cause sometimes, if we really like guys, we feel like we can't say no. So get a yes. Or…make sure she can say no and it's okay. _

He cleared his throat, turning to the refrigerator to get a drink. He frowned, though, and shut it immediately, a little restless—he wanted a beer, but he wasn't supposed to drink around her, and right now, he didn't want to break that rule.

He looked over at her.

"That thing you said, about crunchin' numbers," he started gruffly. "Never thought you'd grown up like that."

It wasn't a judgmental remark—just a curious one, and it seemed to make her hesitate.

"It was complicated," she began thoughtfully, her breathing still a little quick, her face still flushed. "I don't know why I said that to you," she muttered, almost to herself. "Kimberly was from old southern money," she revealed. "Born rich, went wild. She watched too many romantic movies about military boys and nurses and World War Two," Jenny said curtly, "and Jasper Shepard just turned her head," she said snootily.

Jenny tossed her hair and looked over at Gibbs.

"He knocked her up when she was nineteen, and she thought it would be perfect. Her parents, though…they liked Daddy, but they were sick of her, and they told her if she was old enough to have a kid, she damn well better get married and get off their money—and of course, Daddy was smitten, he married her in a heartbeat, but then that's supporting a baby and a spoiled brat with fancy tastes on an Army salary," Jenny explained. "He took all kinds of hazard deployments for the pay, and he made sure we didn't have luxury so I'd have food and some toys, and Kimberly just," Jenny stopped.

Gibbs stared, entranced, shocked that she was talking so much. He stepped closer and absentmindedly let go of the bra. He reached out and touched Jenny's hair, grasping some of the wild waves lightly. Jenny groaned, frustrated, and shook her head.

"Kimberly, she's just a bitch. She's misguided, she's stupid—she wanted some stupid tragic beautiful Daisy Buchanan life," she growled, "and she didn't care if she used Daddy, and man, did she hate having a kid," Jenny whistled angrily, stirring the pasta with more vigor. She tensed. "You know, Dad hates that I call her Kimberly, and he hates that I won't talk about her, but I hate how angry I get when I think about her, and I hate that he still _fucking_ loves her," she muttered.

She turned and shrugged.

"I don't need some woman who never gave a damn about me. But it's so," she faltered.

"Pisses you off," Gibbs supplied. "That she bailed."

"Yeah," Jenny agreed aggressively. She turned, and when she caught his eye, she paused. "You know who Daisy Buchanan is?" She noticed he hadn't interrupted—and she had thought he would.

"Had high school English, Jen," he said, rolling his eyes. "You ever try to reach out to your mom?"

"No," Jenny said, giving him a hard look. She spooned a few pasta noodles onto the counter and watched them steam. "She's not a mother to me. My grandmother, Noemi, they're the women who deserve my love. She's just a bitch who abandoned me in a home I barely knew and left a note for my father while he was in Bosnia, I—" Jenny stopped, and then her shoulders fell. She narrowed her eyes. "I—I did search her name once," she admitted.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows.

"She ran off to California, to be some actress," Jenny snapped. "She—dyed her hair blonde, wears purple contacts, goes by the name 'Kimmy Cat'," she said, and then met his eyes dully, "you know, in the one acting stint she did, in a porno."

Gibbs didn't react, just looked at her, taking in her anger. He ran his hands through her hair again and tilted his head, grinding his back teeth together. Her bra was warm on his shoulder, and he wasn't sure why he was thinking about that, except it seemed so much like a gesture of trust that he—

"Mine killed 'erself," he said gruffly. "Mom," he clarified. "She uh, couldn't take a bad diagnosis," he added slowly. "Knew my old man wouldn't be any good married to an invalid."

Jenny looked up at him, leaning her head into his gentle touch.

"Jethro," she murmured. She chewed on her lip, but chose not to ask him about his father.

"Mom, she would've liked you," Gibbs said shortly.

Jenny laughed softly.

"Kimberly would probably try to fuck you," she said dryly, though the compliment warmed her heart.

She picked up the noodles she'd extracted and held them in her palm.

"Taste these, see if they're tender enough."

He took them from her palm with his teeth, smirking, and obliged, shaking his head after a moment.

"Not unless you want 'em al dente," he joked.

She made a face, and adjusted the heat, flipping on the oven light and checking on the food. She adjusted the heat on the sauce, too, just so it would stay warmer. She licked her lips—she felt a little lightheaded, from his touch, from how much she'd just talked about her mother. She felt like going home, but she also felt like maybe continuing what was going on in the living room—and that made her nervous. She bit her lip, and then she took a deep breath.

"Jethro," she began firmly. "Can I—ask you something?"

He leaned against the oven, careful not to get his shirt on the burners, and kept twisting his hand in her hair. He nodded and shrugged, figuring there was no harm in whatever was coming—for some reason, he was expecting to be asked how many women he'd been with, which made him shrug her bra off his shoulder and to the floor. Her eyes flicked down, and then she looked up.

"What's the story behind the redhead in your wallet?" she asked quietly.

That—was not what he had expected; somehow, he had hoped—convinced himself—she had forgotten about that incident, that picture, and when she asked, he was taken aback enough for his features to darken in a scowl. He extricated his hand back from her hair, and she made a face as his nails tangled a little, and pulled strands loose.

He shrugged.

"She's a girl."

"Jethro," she said slowly. She chewed on her bottom lip, frustrated, and decided she couldn't let him buck the topic this time. "She's not _just_ a girl."

"What's it to you, Jen?" he asked sharply.

She dropped the spoon in her hand.

"What's it to _me_?" she asked just as sharply. She pointed at herself. "It's a picture of some beautiful girl in your wallet, Jethro," she said coolly. "You can't tell me you don't get how that," her voice hitched, "I don't know it—scares me."

"Don't let it," he said flippantly. "It's just a picture."

"Dammit," swore Jenny tensely, letting her hand fall. "You—Jethro, I know your father mistook me for that girl when we were in Stillwater—he told me it was only my hair, and he's right, I saw the picture, my eyes are green and—hers are blue—but she was obviously someone who meant something to you, meant a lot to you, and considering what just happened on your living room floor I want to know—that I'm not just some proxy for an old heartache!"

He looked perplexed by all of her words, but there was a shadow in his eyes—and in his words, when he next spoke.

"Look, Jen—she's not an ex-girlfriend, if that's what you're worried about," he said gruffly. "You're nothin' like her."

"Who was she to you?"

"You sound like a jealous wife," he growled.

"How would you know?" she retorted aggressively. She pushed her hair back and paused, biting her lip. "Jethro I—I've been talking to you about Kimberly. You could—I deserve a little," she decided to use his joke from earlier, "tit for tat."

"No," he said icily. "You don't get to manipulate it like that," he barked.

_"It_ wasn't—I _wasn't!"_ she snapped. "Jethro, this isn't—it's not manipulation; it's _reciprocity_." She told him, stomping her foot a little. She parted her lips, meeting his eyes for a moment. "I like you. I _like_ you. I care about…your bad things," she said, "like you…seem to care about my problem with…my mother. I want to feel," she hesitated, her cheeks flushing. "I want to feel closer before I—we—you took my bra off, Jethro!"

He snorted.

"That means I got to tell you a secret? C'mon, Jen. This isn't high school," he growled mockingly.

She looked at him like he'd slapped her, and then her face darkened, and she lunged forward.

"You're right," she hissed, "and if it's not, then why are you acting like a freshman?" she demanded. "I know this isn't your first rodeo, Cowboy, so don't let this little filly buck you off," she growled, her green eyes flashing. "If I'm wasting my time while you pine for Annabel Lee, I deserve to know before I get hurt."

She faltered at the end, and he saw how scared she was of that happening, and he tightened his jaw.

"I don't want to hurt you," he growled at her, frustrated. "I don't want to talk about her, either."

"I didn't _want_ to talk about Kimberly!" Jenny burst out. "I'm not stupid, Jethro, I can string clues together! This—she's the _Fielding_ girl, isn't she? The one who died? She's the girl who the box of books and little handwritten notes belonged to, she's the one you got out of trouble?" He said nothing, and she bit her lip, her hand shaking. "I feel so vulnerable to you, Christ! You're the only person I've ever told about how Kimberly makes me feel so…abandoned and you're just this rock of—"

"She's dead, Jenny," he interrupted harshly. "The Fielding girl, she's dead, and her notes don't matter, and it's just an old school picture. She's not a threat to you," he said tensely. "I can't," he said, thinking about how quickly he'd left Stillwater after Shannon—how much he had failed to handle it— "I can't, Jen," he said.

His voice broke a little hoarsely, and she stepped back, unsure if he was that angry—or if it was sadness cracking his words. She swallowed hard, torn between reaching out to clutch him for a hug, and continuing to yell at him—it wasn't fair; he had to somehow understand that his experience and his confidence intimidated her sometimes, and she almost needed some emotional walls to come down to feel more secure—and she hated that she was feeling that way right now, she hated it so much that she just—lashed out—

"You're such a bastard," she barked, and he flinched as if it had really hurt him—so she whirled away, guilty about the look in his eyes, and she went to slam her fist down on the counter—but she missed, hit the pot of boiling water, and sent it flying.

Gibbs gave a loud shout and yanked her, and she stumbled, managing to avoid getting hit too much by hot water. It spilled onto her sock-covered feet and she leapt violently away from the heat, leaning onto the stove to get pressure off of the soles. Gibbs swore and grabbed a towel, heading for the sink to run cold water over it—and then he realized—

"Jen," he shouted hoarsely, dropping the towel and pulling her away from the stove—she'd fallen onto it, and braced her palm on the scalding hot burner, something so hot she barely realized how badly she was burned until Gibbs pulled her away.

She muffled a scream behind clenched teeth as the searing pain set in, and then she closed her eyes tightly.

"Ow," she squeaked, shocked. _"Fuck!"_ she swore hoarsely.

"Ah, hell," he swore, turning her palm over gingerly and running his fingertips over it lightly.

She gave a cry, and he grit his teeth. He looked up at her, and pained, annoyed tears spilled down her cheeks. He could have kicked himself—and worse—in that moment, because he highly suspected she'd already started to cry before the burn.

"Jen," he murmured again, taking the towel to wet it with cold water. He wrapped it around her hand gingerly—she sucked in a pained breath—and then he turned off the oven and the stove. "C'mon," he coaxed. "Need to have it looked at, base hospital," he said grudgingly.

Gibbs knew, the minute he got there, the responsible thing to do would be call Colonel Shepard—and he dreaded being the one to admit he was the one on watch when Jenny sustained an injury.

* * *

She stared dubiously at the gauze wrapped around her palm, her eyebrows raised in slight amusement. She lifted her head slowly and shook her head, keeping her voice low.

"I can't believe you called him," she muttered, exasperated.

Gibbs lifted his shoulders.

"Couldn't just leave 'im in the dark," he retorted under his breath. "Besides, it took 'em forever to triage you. It's after eleven now. Don't wanna push curfew."

The Colonel had come growling in twenty minutes ago, and was now conferring with a doctor about Jenny's medical information. He was displeased to have been interrupted from a crisis situation at the Pentagon, worried about her, and mad at Gibbs for good measure.

Gibbs followed her gaze and grimaced, turning back quickly. He took Jenny's hand in his.

"Still burning?" he asked.

"Like a bitch," she said dryly, looking with interest at the wrapped injury. She shrugged. "I can't believe I didn't snatch my hand off that burner right away," she muttered.

"Heat must've shocked your skin, numbed the pain."

"Yeah, so my body reacts in a way that lands me with a second degree burn and a tetanus shot?" she snorted. "Evolutionarily advanced, my ass."

She flexed her arm, wincing when pain reverberated through the muscle. She'd been given a tetanus shot right in the middle of her left shoulder, and it was still throbbing like a fresh bruise. Gibbs leaned forward and ran his hand over the place where the little pink Band-Aid was covering the shot radius. He brushed her skin gently a few times, and then leaned forward to kiss it.

Jenny smiled, but the smile turned into an eye-roll the moment her father yanked Gibbs back by the scruff of his neck and glared at him viciously.

"What the hell are you doing, son?"

Gibbs blinked a little sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders, drawing himself up to attention and deciding it was best not to answer. He swallowed, stepped back, and the Colonel gave him a piercing glare before turning to Jenny and prowling around her. She held up her hand breezily.

"I am fine, Daddy," she said firmly. She kicked her feet slightly, still perched on the edge of a metal examination table.

He seemed unconvinced.

"I'm standing in a hospital, Jennifer, I'll be damned if you're fine. How the hell'd you get a second degree burn?"

"I told you," she retorted. "It was an accident."

"Then why does Corporal Idiot over here look so damn guilty?" demanded Jasper seriously, shooting Gibbs a virulently suspicious look.

Jenny lifted her chin.

"He's a chauvinist," she answered pointedly. "He thinks it's his fault, like you do," she added, and narrowed her eyes. "I spilled boiling water, Daddy, it didn't burn me because Jethro was standing there; it burned me because boiling water is hot."

"Do not explain science to me, Jennifer," snapped Jasper, turning to Gibbs astutely and rounding on him. "I can count on one hand the number of times she's banged herself up, and they've all been when she's pissed," he growled. "What the hell did you do?"

Jenny raised her brows, slightly impressed at how quickly her father had deduced that they'd had a fight—but he was right; she tended to get hurt when she got angry, because she was reckless in anger. She'd broken two fingers slamming a door when she was thirteen.

Gibbs pulled himself up and put his hands behind his back. He didn't look at Jenny, but he didn't seem to know how to answer, and she leaned forward and stepped in for him.

"Dad," she said harshly. "_If_ we had a fight, it's none of your business, is it?" she asked.

He whirled on her this time, his expression cool.

"You ended up in the hospital," he growled sharply, throwing a nasty look at Gibbs. "That doesn't sit well with me."

"Oh my God, Daddy," she said, frustrated. "He didn't _throw_ the water on me, I tipped it over—I was acting like an idiot around a hot stove," she said, exasperated. "It's bad enough I screwed up dinner; I'd like it if you refrained from accusing Jethro of _torturing_ me."

The Colonel eyed her warily, a muscle jumping in his jaw—he was bothered, that was all; when he'd arrived, Gibbs had been nearly glued to Jenny's side, one hand resting on her thigh, and if that hadn't put him into a bad enough mood, he'd seen the blistering burn on Jenny's hand and gone into assault mode. However, meeting the defiant look in her eye, he rethought his gut reaction and forced himself to acknowledge that she was right—he didn't really believe Gibbs had done anything to intentionally hurt her, and it was stupid to think they'd never have a fight—but it still infuriated him that there had been a fight at all, because he did not like the idea that Jenny had been upset enough to upend a boiling pot of water.

He turned and gave Gibbs a searching look.

"She can't drive home with that injury," he said curtly.

Gibbs cleared his throat.

"I drove _her_ car here, sir," he said, well aware that Jasper used the metro for travel. "You can take her home."

The Colonel nodded, pleased with the foresight. He lifted his finger and pointed sharply at Gibbs.

"I don't know what you said or did, boy," he growled, "but you've got ten minutes to set it straight while I deal with her discharge papers."

The Colonel stepped forward, bent to kiss his daughter's forehead, and then—apparently, became distracted by something—on her neck. He blinked, and then reached out and pressed his thumb against it, his eyes narrowing. He pulled back, gave her an annoyed look, and then pointed two fingers to his own eyes and back at Gibbs'. He turned on his heel and marched out to take care of discharge—and Jenny's hand flew to her neck. She turned to Gibbs and have him a seething look.

"I told you _not to leave a mark_!" she hissed, panicked.

He stepped closer and squinted, looking perplexed.

"I was careful!" he protested, and then she moved her hand, and he tried to wince—but he accidentally smirked instead, and she slapped him on the shoulder—albeit with her burned hand, which meant she immediately yelped in pain.

He stepped closer, taking that hand gently and shushing her.

"Colonel's gonna come back in here and—"

"Keelhaul you?" Jenny suggested.

He snorted.

"Yeah, that," he agreed, unsure to what he was agreeing to. He looked down at her burned hand and knit his eyebrows together, gritting his teeth together for a moment. "If you don't do it first," he added warily.

The little trip to the hospital had certainly diverted attention from their fight, but he was still stinging from being called a bastard, and he wanted to make-up for it—and, he did feel guilty that she was hurt, and some of what she'd said was bother him. He hadn't meant to make her feel insecure or young, and he definitely didn't want her to think he was just trying to get in her pants.

Jenny sighed, tilting her head back.

He looked up at her, his eyes narrow, and he cleared his throat.

"Her name's Shannon," he said coarsely, forcing the words out. Her head snapped up, and he immediately looked down at her hand, holding it in his protectively. "Was," he mumbled. "It was…Shannon."

Jenny tilted her head. She leaned forward a little, bowing her head so she could listen closer. She thought for a moment it was futile, because he stopped talking, but then he went on.

"She—was," he said, still seeming to struggle with his tenses, "a friend."

"She was more than just a friend, Jethro," Jenny guessed softly.

"Best friend," he said testily. "Like a sister or somethin'," he added. He stared at Jenny's hand for a long time. "Grew up with 'er," he revealed. "She had—problems," he muttered.

He set his jaw, trying to figure out how to detail it—he had never really talked about Shannon, not after she'd died. And he hadn't—ever really understood her. He searched desperately for some way to describe it.

His brow darkened.

"You seen _Footloose_?" he asked.

"Everyone's seen _Footloose_," Jenny said softly.

"She was like that girl," he said roughly. "Y'know, tryin' to get out. Prove somethin'. Feel good about herself," he muttered. He snorted tensely.

"Ariel," Jenny murmured. "The girl in _Footloose,_ her name was Ariel Moore."

He looked up, and Jenny tilted her head, seeing for the first time a raw, honestly distraught look in his eyes. She reached up with her free hand and touched his cheek.

_"Shannon_ was always getting' in trouble, harmless stuff at first, worse when we got older. Lettin' guys mess with her, even if they treated her wrong," he muttered. He shrugged. "Tried to take care of her," he said tensely.

Jenny licked her lips, pursing them thoughtfully. She didn't doubt it for a second—Gibbs was the white knight kind of guy, and he probably blamed himself ten times over for whatever had happened to this girl—like he blamed himself for her burned palm.

"How did she die?" Jenny asked.

Gibbs shook his head. His jaw tensed, and then he swallowed hard.

"Car accident," he managed hoarsely. "She. She—ah," he broke off, shaking his head. He clenched his teeth together and then looked sharply up.

"Jethro," she murmured.

"She let some drunk guy drive her home from a bonfire,"he forced out harshly. "'Cause I wouldn't go get her, 'cause her Dad got to me, and convinced me to stop enablin' her," he stopped again, this time for a very long time. "The guy walked away from it," he managed. "Shannon…medics said she died on impact."

Jenny ran her fingers through Gibbs' short, Marine-cut hair. It always did seem to work out that way—she bit her lip, pressing her burned hand into his palm, even though it hurt just a little, because she thought he might like that. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his face, sighing heavily.

"Dammit, Jethro," she muttered. "You could have _just—talked_ to me," she whispered.

He shook his head, leaning his mouth against her neck.

"It's hard, Jen."

"I know," she answered.

She clung to him lightly for a moment, digesting all of the information—she was sorry it had taken his guilt over her injury to make him talk, but at the same time—she was relieved he had decided he could trust her. It seemed like there were years of depth to his relationship with Shannon Fielding. She sighed again, shaking her head a little.

"You think that was harder than facing my father, now that you gave me that damn hickey?" She murmured, trying to lighten the mood.

He snorted after a moment and cleared his throat, reaching up and tugging on the collar of her shirt a little.

"Least of our worries, Jen," he grumbled dryly. She raised her eyebrows, and then—with a quiet gasp—she remembered _right_ as he said it—

"Your bra's still at my apartment."

She moaned in embarrassment and sank against Gibbs' chest—there were so _many_ reasons to pray that her father didn't notice she was missing that particular garment.

* * *

_feedback feedback :)_

_-alexandra_


	10. JulySeptember

_A/N:__ Gibbs is such a dork. I know I wrote him like that (I mean he's a dork in the show) but there's just not enough words out there to describe his delectable dorkishness. _

_Chapter Eight_

_July/September_

* * *

It was considerably cold outside, but both men on the Quantico obstacle course were sweating as if they were in the desert—training had that effect, when overzealous commanding officers ran it, and Gibbs and Vance had both stayed after to hone different skills. Gibbs picked himself up from the ground, ignoring the mud and grass on his elbows and knees, and sat down on one of the platforms used to train in hand-to-hand combat. He watched Leon working on pull-ups on one of the bars and lifted his chin.

"You done your Christmas shoppin' yet?" he asked.

Leon lowered himself, and then lifted up again, shaking his head when his chin passed the bar.

"Nah, waitin' on my next paycheck," he answered shortly, concentrating on his work out. "You?"

Gibbs shrugged, frowning. He'd been wracking his brains trying to think of what to get Jenny and had come up with nothing every time. With only about two and a half weeks left until Christmas, he was getting a little tense about his lack of ideas.

"Whattaya usually get Jackie?" he asked Vance.

"Jewelry," grunted Leon, and then swung off the bar the ground. He jogged over and leaned on the platform next to Gibbs, shrugging. He smirked and wiggled his eyebrows. "And, you know, I rock her world in bed," he bragged.

Gibbs glared at him, ignoring the comment.

"Nah, dunno," he muttered. "Jen's not the fancy jewelry type—well, she'd wanna pick out her own stuff," he guessed, fairly sure he'd sensed that about her. "You ever gotten Jackie somethin' she didn't like?"

Vance thought about it, and shrugged.

"Nope," he said bluntly. "I know my girl too well," he said frankly. He kicked his friend mockingly in the shin. "Hey, get her a kitten. Chicks love baby animals." Leon advised, grinning toothily.

"She's got a huge dog, Vance," Gibbs said testily.

"Yeah, so? Keep it at your place for 'er. Then you're a guy with a cute baby kitten, chicks really dig that."

Gibbs glared at him skeptically, and Vance snorted.

"Or, hell-why don't you get Jenny some _wood?"_

Gibbs turned and punched Leon in the shoulder, shoving him forcefully a few steps to the side. He glared at him threateningly, and Vance leapt away, laughing smugly. He held up his hands and resumed his place tentatively, smirking a little devilishly but backing off all the same.

"Relax, man—look, I mean carve 'er something," he said, feigning innocence. He grinned again, flashing his teeth impishly. "Put that damn hobby to use." He snorted and lift his chin loftily. "Ain't it supposed to mean more if you make gifts and don't buy 'em?" he prompted.

Gibbs grunted skeptically. What the hell was he supposed to _build_ her? He thought about it, his jaw set, and then glared at Vance for good measure—the suggestion was good, but frustrating as hell.

"Y'know, whittle her a key to that chastity belt her Daddy's got on her," Vance drawled.

Gibbs grabbed him at the collar.

"Leon," he warned.

Vance shoved him away, laughing good-naturedly.

"Shit, Jethro, you act like I'm makin' dirty jokes about her or somethin'," he said wryly, shaking his head. Vance inclined his head, eyebrows raised. "Must be hittin' close to the mark, eh?" he prodded. "You haven't closed the deal with 'er."

"She's not a goddamn treaty or somethin'," Gibbs growled.

"That's not what I'm sayin'," retorted Vance. "I'm just pointin' out that you're not gettin' any," he snorted smugly. "Meanwhile, Fornell is swimmin' in women who'd usually be fawning over _you, _'cause you don't have a look to spare for 'em."

Gibbs was silent for a moment. It wasn't as difficult as Vance and Fornell seemed to think it was—he wasn't much of a womanizer anyway, and he'd had dry spells before—hell, this one was less irritating, because technically he'd chosen to take her cues.

"You sleep with Jackie right off the bat?" he demanded, glaring at Vance.

"Naw, but we were in high school, and Jackie's the only woman I ever been with," he retorted frankly. "She's never been with any guy but me—but you been with plenty of women," Vance paused, waiting.

Gibbs shrugged. It wasn't _plenty_—but he wasn't inexperienced.

"You were hot and heavy with that Diane girl in boot camp."

Gibbs snorted, and then looked at Vance seriously.

"Don't go tellin' stories to Jen about women I slept with," he warned.

"She think you're a virgin or somethin'?" Vance laughed.

Gibbs whacked him in the back of the head mercilessly.

"I don't know what the hell she thinks," he growled. "Not my business to harass her about it."

"I got it, Prince Charming."

"You want me to tell your wife you're askin' me to bully Jen—"

"Whoa," Vance held up his hands, glaring in mock outrage. "Violation of the bro code, Jethro, threatenin' to tell the wife!"

Gibbs gave him a merciless look and then grinned—and Vance shook his head, letting out a whistle.

"'M not asking you to bully her, she's a nice girl. I'm just mocking you 'cause you got blue balls."

Gibbs glared at him again, and Vance shrugged, turning and sighing contently.

"That's a problem I don't got," he bragged. "Jackie's a little hellcat—you know, the other night she—"

Vance launched into a tale Jackie probably wouldn't want told—typical Marines, sharin' stories, and Gibbs half-listened, tuning out completely when Vance started quoting Jackie directly—and he went back to wracking his brains about Christmas gifts, and deliberately _not_ thinking about how much he actually _did_ want to sleep with Jenny—

-then, abruptly, he remembered something she'd joked about on their first date.

* * *

Jenny threw her black-pocketed apron on a café table and gave her co-worker a relieved wave—she'd been on the clock since she'd left school, and she was glad for even a ten-minute break. Nina and Holly had stopped by for coffee, and she knew they all had several things to discuss.

Today had been the last day of school before the two and a half week Christmas holiday, and it was a relief—exams has all gone spectacularly, which put Jenny in a relieved mood and helped her prove herself even more to her father, and she'd found out she'd been accepted to George Mason—so if all else failed, she had a fall back school.

"Did you hear about Tim McGee?" Nina started earnestly, leaning in. "He got accepted to MIT today—early action," she said, awestruck, and little jealous admiration in her eyes. "I got deferred to regular decision—he's a genius," she said rapidly.

"You're a genius too, Neeners," Holly said, rolling her eyes. She grabbed Jenny's hand. "Don't be fooled—Nina just got accepted early to Georgetown, Stanford, and fuckin' Yale."

Jenny glared at her dark-haired Russian friend admiringly.

"And you're upset about a little deference from MIT?" she teased.

Nina blushed, and then smiled brightly, glad of the praise—and glad to be reminded she was being silly.

"Well, since we're bragging on each other—Holly?" she began, and then gestured valiantly to the cheerleader. "Shall I do the honors?"

"If you must," breathed Holly dramatically.

"Miss Daniels has just been offered a cheer scholarship to the University of—_Hawaii_."

Jenny let out a shriek, and Holly beamed.

"I didn't know you applied to Hawaii!" Jenny squealed. "Oh my god—college at the beach?"

Holly bounced in her seat.

"It was a joke I—I got a free application, and then I found out they have full scholarships for fourteen cheerleaders, and they offered me one," she shrugged, "I don't know, though, it's lookin' like Mark is going to play for an SEC school—LSU or Florida, and I maybe don't want to be that far away from him."

"Oh," Jenny said, shaking her hand. "But consider it, please, don't just write it off because of Mark," she begged.

"I know, Jenny—I've got you to knock that sense into me," Holly laughed. She looked a little uncertain, but she brushed it away with one of her bright, effervescent grins. "It looks like none of us will end up at the same place—and if I can leave my girls, I can leave Mark, right?"

Nina giggled.

"Yes," she agreed. "Friends first—friends are soul mates."

"Okay, _Charlotte_," Jenny teased, mocking Nina's maniacal love of _Sex and the City_.

"What about you, Jenny?" Nina asked.

"I told you guys I got into Mason—but I have to wait for most until April," she said, making a face. "You know my little…infatuation problem means I missed most early deadlines," she admitted, begrudging the fact.

Holly shrugged good-naturedly.

"It doesn't matter _when_ you get in," she said airily. She leaned forward, and took a long sip of her coffee.

Jenny checked her watch and tossed her hair back—she had about five minutes left.

"Hol—you got any ideas about what I should get Jethro for Christmas?" she asked worriedly. "He's not a very material person."

"Get him a cat," Holly said blithely.

"Holly, _dammit_, stop making jokes."

"What? I—" Holly burst out laughing. "I didn't mean—_pussy_, I meant an actual cat!" she choked out, unable to lower her voice even when Nina shushed her in exasperation.

Jenny flushed, and blinked silently.

"Why the hell would I get him a cat?"

"Cats are adorable and fun, and it can be your cat that lives at his apartment," Holly answered seriously. "You want a cat, but you have that big fucking dog, so this is basically a perfect solution."

Jenny let out a giggle and shook her head, imagining Gibbs living in his apartment with a tiny kitten pouncing all over him.

"No I—I can't get him a _cat_, he wouldn't get along with it," she laughed. "C'mon, Holly—guys, seriously. I'm at a loss."

"You said he likes autobiographical books," Nina piped up softly. "You could get him one of those and," she paused, thinking hard. She lifted her shoulders. "Well, Gibbs seems like the kind of guy who wouldn't really notice not getting a gift." She cocked her head and then smirked at Jenny. "You could give him the panties that match the bra you left at his house."

Holly laughed loudly, giving Nina a proud look, and Jenny leaned back, groaning good-naturedly and rolling her eyes—she'd been teased so mercilessly about that, she almost wished she hadn't told them.

She looked down at her hand—it was healing nicely, the skin was red and tender, but she hadn't kept a bandage on it for a few days now—and the memory of the fight a week or so ago was fading as fast as the injury. She hadn't brought up Shannon Fielding again, and he hadn't brought up her mother—but she wasn't sure if it was because there was a little bit of distance between them, or because there was a more intimate, mutual understanding.

Gibbs had seemed off his game the past few days, anyway—but she didn't mention that to anyone.

Jenny was just about to tell her friends to fuck off, when Holly grabbed her hand.

"Knife," she said incoherently.

"What?"

"Knife," she repeated. "My dad has this pocket knife that Mom gave him for an anniversary, and my Uncle's ex-wife got him a knife once, too. Gibbs is a Marine, he'd think a pocket knife was cool, yeah?" she tried.

Jenny cocked her head thoughtfully, smiling.

"There's a thought," she muttered. "My dad has a rule about always carrying a knife in combat," she said slowly. "I think the Marines issue knives, but," she trailed off, her eyes sparkling. She looked at Holly excitedly. "Holly, I love you."

"I try," Holly said, preening. She stood up, yanking her phone out of her wallet. "Mark's calling me—probably about our plans tonight—thank your lucky stars, Jenny; my other suggestion was you: trussed up in a naughty elf costume."

Jenny rolled her eyes and checked her watch again, standing up herself. She downed the rest of her coffee—it was still hot, and it burned, but she didn't want to waste it. She frowned, tapping her foot.

"Two more hours, and then I'll see you guys," she said. "Thanks for stopping by."

"Yeah," Nina said earnestly. "Well—hey, congratulations on your English exam—best in his course, wasn't it?"

Jenny nodded, shrugging with nonchalance—the essay question had been on Macbeth, which had been in her best interests. She grinned a little sappily at the thought, and shook her head.

"See you at Kensi Blye's Christmas party, right?" Nina asked.

"I'm changing after work, and I'll go right over—you need a ride?" Jenny asked.

"No, Susan Grady's taking me—hey, it's tacky sweaters, so don't look stunning, okay?" Nina teased.

Jenny gave her the finger—apparently, it was a running joke that Jenny's tacky outfits were never tacky enough. Nina giggled, and ran off to catch up to Holly—and both girls waved at Jenny as she fastened her apron back on and cleared off the little table.

* * *

"Hey, Gibbs!"

Gibbs turned around, flicking his cover up and squinting to see who had called him. He caught sight of Joan Matteson waving her hand at him as she jogged over from a restaurant—she looked stunning, as always, and he waited for her to catch up to him.

"Long time no see," she said, catching her breath. She had a to go bag clutched in her hand.

"How you been, Matteson?" he asked cordially—she was someone he'd known since boot camp at Parris Island, and they'd shared virtually every assignment since then.

He flashed a grin at her, and she smirked.

"Not as good as you, I heard," she sniffed, though her eyes twinkled.

"Hell, I hear you still beat my times across the board," he retorted, narrowing his eyes.

"But I didn't make sniper training school," she said, lifting her shoulders.

He tilted his head.

"Didn't know you applied," he remarked.

She nodded, and shrugged. She shifted her feet and folded her arms, rubbing her shoulders in the cold.

"What're you doing, hangin' around this bar?" she asked. "Too afraid to go inside and beat some officers at darts?"

Gibbs laughed, and held up his keys.

"Designated driver," he said, rolling his eyes. "Fornell's celebratin' something with some FBI academy cadet."

Matteson whistled and rolled her eyes.

"Speakin' of girls, though," she said, reaching out and pushing against his shoulder gently. "I want to meet yours. Leon says you're smitten."

Gibbs smiled a little warily.

"She's somethin'," he said vaguely, looking over Matteson's shoulder darkly. "You still datin' that guy?" he asked, eying the bulky blonde Marine who'd just come out of the same restaurant as Matteson.

She glanced over her shoulder.

"Datin', screwin', what's it matter?" she answered, laughing. He rubbed his jaw—he didn't like the guys Matteson chose to screw; she liked the casual fling, and she liked it with arrogant, brutal Marines, and they weren't the kind Gibbs got along with. He narrowed his eyes darkly, and Matteson, leaned against a post next to him, tilting her head. She touched his arm.

"Be nice, Jethro," she warned—well aware of his old tendencies to give in to temper.

"Forget it, Joan," he retorted in a low growl, tilting his head. "Your guy wolf-whistled at Jen last time she was on base."

Matteson clicked her tongue, rolling her eyes with a sigh, and straightened up as the blonde came up and slung his beefy arm around her. He was chewing gum—obnoxiously—and gave Gibbs a superior sort of glare. Gibbs stared back blankly, twice as smart and twice as skilled as this oaf.

"Gibbs," the guy said, and snorted as if the name itself was funny. "Where's that leggy little redhead you're always babysittin'?" he asked coarsely.

Gibbs tightened his jaw, and Matteson elbowed her date.

"Shut up, Skinner," she placated, rolling her eyes again.

The blonde laughed sharply and shrugged.

"Lighten up, babe, he's used to it," he said bluntly, shooting a look at Gibbs. He flashed a stupid smirk. "He's pretty protective of that broad, though," leered Skinner—and Gibbs clenched his jaw, giving the other man a warning look.

He flexed his hands subtly, his blood rushing—it had been a long time since he'd let himself be provoked into a fight, but this guy had made Jenny uncomfortable the last time she was on base at dinner with him, and—he reminded him of all those bastards who used to mistreat Shannon.

"She's young, Skinner, and Gibbs is a gentleman," Matteson said calmly.

Skinner snorted derisively.

"Yeah? Then why's he sniffin' around you again, like you didn't already tell 'im he wasn't good enough in bed for you?"

Matteson whirled around, angry suddenly.

"That's not what happened, and that's not what I said," she barked.

Gibbs took her arm and pulled her away calmly, planting his feet. Matteson wrenched her arm away—she didn't want Gibbs thinking she'd said anything like that. Gibbs—he knew what had happened between him and Matteson was nothing important, but he could tell Skinner was about to cross a line—

"Can't blame him, really, since that kid he's datin' is such a tight ass," Skinner goaded. He laughed. "You know, Joanie, maybe he'd back off you if I showed that little Colonel's daughter what a real man's like—"

Gibbs grabbed Skinner by his collar and slammed him back into the lamppost.

"Gibbs!" shouted Matteson sharply.

It didn't matter—the first fist was swung, and ten seconds later when Fornell came out of the bar with a blonde on his arm, and Leon and Jackie behind him, Vance gave a shout and jumped in to try and break it up.

"Shit," growled Jackie, grabbing Fornell's hand—she pointed, and Fornell swore.

"MPs," Fornell hissed at the idiots still fighting in the streets. "_Goddamnit_, Gibbs, get off of him—it's Macy, and she don't fuckin' mess around—"

* * *

Kensi Blye wasn't someone Jenny usually hung out with—they got along amiably, and in English class, and twitter discussions about the latest episode of Law and Order, they were inseparable—but in the greater realm of high school hierarchy, Kensi was more like Holly—slightly wild, very popular, and queen of the dance team.

Still—she was sweet to Jenny when she arrived.

"Hey, Jenny," she said, pulling her in for a hug. She shoved a fruity coloured candy cane into her hand with a little tag around it. "Hold on to that, we're going to do a game later and whoever has the same number as you on their tag is going to be your partner," she said brightly.

Jenny thanked her, and looked a little jealously at how perfect Kensi looked—perfect glossy dark hair, lovely skin, wide, mischievous brown eyes. Jenny admired her dress, and then Kensi grinned.

"I was hoping you'd bring that Marine of yours—but Holly said you don't take him around us," she said, gesturing around at the party. "Okay—warning: there's tequila in the punch, just a little—well, a lot, so keep an eye on Holly around it," she laughed. "I fuckin' love your outfit."

"Yeah, like I could outshine you, Kensi."

Kensi giggled, and pointed towards the kitchen.

"Nina is in there, and I think I saw Holly shouting at Tim McGee in the living room—that boy has definitely never drank before, and he's _definitely_ on his third cup of punch," she laughed.

Jenny nodded and slipped past to find Nina, slipping her candy cane into her boot. She made sure the little hook kept it visible, and accepted a glass of punch from one of the boys in her history class as she sidled up to Nina.

"You want to go home already?" she asked.

"No—I'm having fun," Nina said sincerely. "Tim McGee tried to kiss Holly—she was talking to him under some mistletoe, and Mark saw it—it was the funniest thing, Jen," Nina laughed. "I should have come last year."

"Kensi's parties are always fun," Jenny said. "She's smart, she never lets shit get out of control, and her mom's around to run damage control," she remarked.

"Her mom knows we're drinking?"

"Unofficially—Nina, _you're_ drinking?"

"The punch," Nina said. "It's a bit—spicy."

"I've never heard anyone call tequila spicy," Jenny cackled.

"I'm Russian," Nina retorted snootily, and then tilted her head back in a laugh. She leaned back against the counter, holding a plastic cup in one hand and her candy cane in the other, and then she looked over thoughtfully. "You think Mark and Holly will break up over the college thing?"

Jenny shrugged.

"I'm not sure," she said slowly. "They've been together a long time."

"I can't imagine Holly without Mark," Nina agreed.

"But, then, maybe they'd be comfortable breaking up and being like, if we're meant to be, we'll be," Jenny said.

Nina blinked.

"Okay, what about you and Jethro?"

"What?" Jenny laughed. "Nina, we're barely dating—"

"It's December, Jenny," Nina said logically. "You've been seeing him off and on since—well, July, really," she said. "Seriously since…October? You definitely told me you felt it was heavy in October."

Jenny faltered for a moment. She raised her eyebrows at herself.

"Whoa," she said, turning to Nina, her expression thoughtful. "I—I am in a _relationship_," she said.

Nina laughed.

"Yeah you are," she confirmed.

Jenny chewed on her lip, and then arched her eyebrows.

"I never actually envisioned what my life would be like with the addition of 'boyfriend'," she muttered. "Actually, he's so—he's so much older than me, it doesn't feel like…some fumbling, typical high school thing?"

She wondered if that made her seem arrogant, but Nina nodded. She turned towards Jenny, sipping her drink and tilted her head again.

"I mean, do you factor in Gibbs when you're thinking about college?"

Jenny opened her mouth, closed it, and then took a moment.

"No," she decided slowly. "I can't…describe how it is. I compartmentalize. I'm not sure exactly where I want to go, so—and I," she paused. "Well, I mean. He's a Marine, he could be sent across the country."

"Or to Iraq."

"Nina," Jenny said, feeling sick suddenly. "Don't." She hadn't—how had it never occurred to her that Gibbs could be sent to a war zone?

_Sniper school_, she thought. _He's safe in sniper school for—eight weeks. Two months—he's here. It's fine,_ she told herself.

"It's all strange," Jenny murmured, in a haze. She took a huge gulp of her punch and winced—her ration had a heavy amount of tequila and a small amount of—well, whatever other punchy things were mixed in.

She turned to Nina.

"I really like him, Nina," she said quietly.

"I can tell," Nina said, with a cute wrinkle of her nose. She reached out and grabbed Jenny's hand excitedly. "You think he's the one?" she asked.

"Nina," Jenny said, appalled. "Don't be stupid—I'm seventeen," she growled, swatting her friend away playfully. "I just mean I—well, I don't think I want to _plan_ to break up or anything…I just want to do what feels right, I guess."

Nina threw her head back.

"It's why I love you, Jenny," she said dramatically. She blinked a few times. "Tobias, you know, on that trip to Stillwater—he was nosing' around about you and Gibbs. Askin' if you had good intentions."

Jenny laughed.

"What a dork," she said fondly. She shot a look at Nina. "You hit it off with him," she said.

"Oh, god, like it's not enough for one of us to be embroiled in a May-December dating minefield," Nina giggled.

"Shut-up! It's more like, ah...July-September, anyway. Hey, I could totally see if Fornell wants to take you out."

Nina shook her head.

"The guy's a player," she said. She smirked. "He's charming as hell, real funny—and he totally rocks at chess," she mused. She shrugged. "But, I'm not interested in dating anyone until I figure out who I am."

Jenny looked at her admiringly—though with slight surprise. Nina was usually much quieter about her feelings.

"Neens, you're drunk," she said.

"Yes," Nina agreed. She furrowed her brow. "May I spend the night at your house, then? To avoid the Czar?"

Jenny laughed, and nodded her head. Nina—the polite, tipsy darling.

"Hey—Nina," Jenny said. "I might have plans with Gibbs and his people—Jackie, Leon, Fornell," she said, "for New Year's, you know? You should come, give Tobias a hard time—and I need a wing man, to ease Dad's mind."

Nina inclined her head.

"Sure thing, Maverick."

Jenny elbowed her affectionately.

"What would I do without you, Goose?"

At that moment, Holly came flying into the room holding a red plastic cup and glaring at them both vivaciously.

"Are either one of you number twenty-four?" she demanded, dancing her candy cane in front of them.

Nina shook her head; Jenny bent to check her boot and held hers up triumphantly.

"I am!"

"Well, get in here, bitch, you're Tim McGee's partner in the scavenger hunt, and he's literally singing _Jingle Bells_ with a Santa hat on—he needs all the help he can get—Neeners, I'm pretty sure Kensi told me your partner is that tool Tony DiNozzo, which means you'll be the next girl Jeanne Benoit decides to hate—"

Nina raised her hands to the ceiling in a mock cry for salvation and Jenny burst into giggles, taking her hand and dragging her into the living room—shy Tim McGee singing Christmas carols was something she had to see.

* * *

It was easy for Nina to spend the night without much planning, because she was so tiny that she could fit easily into Jenny's clothes. She wasn't belligerently drunk; she just didn't want to deal with the annoyance of her father—which Jenny, who'd stopped after half a glass of punch and sobered up completely before she drove them home, understood.

After making hot cocoa and pouring it over ice cream, Nina and Jenny sweet-talked the Colonel out of the bonus room so they could watch television and proceeded to argue over which _Sex and the City_ season it was going to be.

"Three," demanded Nina.

"No, I hate when she's cheating on Aidan—six," Jenny insisted. "I _love_ the Russian."

"He _hits_ Carrie!"

"Whatever, Carrie's a _twat_," Jenny laughed—and Nina reached over and flicked her.

Jenny slapped her away playfully, and they tussled with the remote for a moment before Nina hugged and blew dark hair out of her face.

"Okay—one," she suggested. "Truce?"

Jenny chewed on her lip.

"Yeah, I can get on board with season one," she said, getting up and bounding over to the cabinets where all of the DVDs were kept. She went about choosing the correct disc and setting up the system, while Nina dove back into her oxymoron of a dessert.

Nina laughed good-naturedly.

"I thought Kensi was going to kill Holly over breaking that punch bowl," she murmured.

Jenny burst out laughing.

"Oh, it was an accident—but god, I would have loved to see them duke it out—head cheerleader and captain of the dance team?"

"Definitely an MTV series," Nina joked solemnly.

Jenny laughed again, and stepped back to make sure the DVD player was working. She heard a buzzing going off behind her, and assumed it was Holly texting them to let them know she was home safe—but she was wrong, Nina cleared her throat.

"Hey, someone's callin' you," she said.

"Jethro?" Jenny asked, turning reflexively to take the phone—he'd probably just gotten in from his night with the guys, and he usually called to tell her goodnight, or tell her some story about Fornell.

"No," Nina said, frowning. She held the phone out and shrugged. "I don't recognize the number."

Jenny tilted her head with interest and pressed the green button.

"Hello?" she answered, throwing the remote to Nina. She stepped away, and she was grateful Nina took the volume down a few notches.

"Hi—Jenny Shepard?"

The voice was familiar, but Jenny couldn't place it. Her heart slammed against her chest—with a boyfriend in the military, random calls probably weren't good—

"Yes," she confirmed in a small voice.

"It's Jackie—Vance," the voice clarified, and Jenny felt immediately relieved—and then wary.

She nodded, realized Jackie couldn't see that, and then cleared her throat.

"Oh, yeah—hi, Jackie," she greeted politely.

"I'm sorry to call you. I got your number off Leroy—Gibbs' phone," Jackie explained in a clipped tone. "I'd be pissed if someone just took my number and called me up, but he's not going to, so I figured I'd do you a favor."

"Wait," Jenny said tensely. "I don't mind you calling me—it's after midnight, Jackie," she said tensely. "What's going on?"

"I heard you got plans with Gibbs tomorrow night," Jackie said.

"I—yes, there's a hockey game, and dinner," Jenny trailed off, figuring Jackie didn't care. "Is he okay?" she asked.

"Oh, he's fine, he's just an idiot," Jackie growled. "You're gonna have to cancel your plans, hon," Jackie said.

Jenny was silent for a moment.

"What happened?"

"He got in a damn fight, with some asshole—right outside of an MP station," Jackie answered in irritation. "Leon, too. They're both in the brig until Sunday mornin'," Jackie explained.

Jenny was quiet. She frowned, and turned around. Nina gave her a curious look, and she made a face, shaking her head in exasperation.

"It's not a big deal—the MP who booked 'em, she's a real hard-ass, you know; the kind of girl with a chip on her shoulder?" Jackie sounded incensed, and distracted.

Jenny swallowed, uncomfortable. She did not know Jackie well—but she did sense Jackie Vance didn't care for her, and she was unsure what this call meant. She chewed on her lip for a moment and then ran a finger through her hair.

"Okay, so I won't come up to Quantico," she murmured, almost to herself. "What the hell was he fighting about? That's not like him anymore," she snapped tensely.

Jackie made a long-suffering noise.

"Well, actually, he was fighting about you," she said, sniffing haughtily.

"Me?" Jenny asked. "I wasn't even there," she pointed out warily.

"He was beating the shit out of some guy who cat-called you last weekend?" Jackie elaborated vaguely—and Jenny closed her eyes with a wince; she remembered the incident. "Same dick made a comment about loosening you up for Gibbs, called you prude or somethin'—look, girl," Jackie said. "I don't know how it went down. I know Gibbs was fightin' over you, 'cause he's all about you all the time now," she said.

"I _am_ his girlfriend," Jenny said a little sharply. "I expect your husband cares about you the same way."

"I'm not five years younger than Leon," Jackie retorted.

Jenny opened her mouth furiously—and then she caught a look from Nina, and she calmed; it was futile to get in an argument with Jackie. It wouldn't recommend her well, and it wouldn't change Jackie's mind; only Jenny's actions would.

Instead, she let the silence hang for a moment, and then she said:

"Is there a reason he had you call me?"

Jackie scoffed.

"He wouldn't have told you, hon," she said—though this time, she sounded sympathetic. "I reckon he's sheepish about it. He can't have his phone in the brig, either," she added. "I thought you deserved to be warned not to drive up here and be surprised."

"Thank you," Jenny said stiffly.

She shifted her feet, and ran her hand through her hair again.

"You want me to tell him anything for you?" Jackie asked shortly.

Jenny considered it for a minute. She shrugged to herself.

"Tell him to remember that he likes me 'cause I won't put up with his bullshit," she muttered thoughtfully.

She said a quick goodbye to Jackie—she suddenly wanted to be off the phone badly—and then she added the other woman's number to her phone as she dragged her feet over to the couch and sat down. She flung herself into Nina's lap dramatically and grabbed the remote, playing the beloved television show for comfort.

"Gibbs in trouble?" Nina asked, setting down her bowl and starting to braid Jenny's hair absently.

Jenny scrubbed her hands over her face, her thoughts racing and her heart fluttering a little painfully—she didn't think it was her fault, really, but for some reason it bothered her—and embarrassed her—that people were teasing Gibbs about her…lack of sleeping with him, and she wasn't even sure how people knew that—other than the fact that—well, she sheepishly realized it was probably pretty obvious, considering her curfew and rules and who her father was.

She sighed heavily and frowned up at Nina.

"How do you think Daddy will react to Gibbs being thrown in the brig?" she asked dryly.

Nina made a face, and put her thumbs down. Jenny closed her eyes, sticking out her tongue in defeat—she felt the same way; it would probably boot Gibbs right back to Taliban status.

* * *

The Colonel was storming around the house searching for one of his ACU boots—Jenny's damn dog had run off with it again, and if he had to replace another pair because of Ike, he was going to take the animal out back and shoot—

He was storming past his daughter's room when he realized her door was open, and she was sprawled out on her bed lazily flipping through a glossy magazine. He stopped in the doorway, and watched her squint, look up from the magazine, check something on her phone, and look back thoughtfully.

"Jenny," he said abruptly.

She jumped, and slammed her phone down on the magazine, looking slightly guilty.

"Yeah?" she answered abrasively, trying to sound cool.

He gave her a suspicious look, and decided not to ask what she'd been doing on her phone. Her cheeks look slightly red, but he stepped into the room anyway.

"I thought you were goin' to the game with Gibbs tonight?"

She blinked, and then turned to her magazine tensely.

"Well, he got himself thrown in the brig," she retorted flippantly.

She had opted not to deliberately discuss that tidbit with her father—and now that the subject was broached, she decided it was best to be as calm as possible about it. Although, considering she'd just been using her phone to research myths about oral sex, and her father had barged in, she was not exactly in a calm state of mind

"Why?" demanded Jasper sternly, bristling indignantly.

"Punching the lights out of some guy who cat-called me," she said vaguely.

She sensed her father's confusion, and then he said:

"You haven't been up to Quantico since Tuesday night," he growled. "Sounds like a bullshit story, Little J."

"It's not," she said, looking up in frustration. "It's a long story," she muttered. "I don't know the whole story; he can't call me from lock up," she added nastily.

The Colonel gave her a paternal glare.

"You can't be surprised, Jenny," he said bluntly. "That's what Marines do. They fight."

It wasn't a secret that the Marines were a rough and tumble, brutal brunch—Jenny knew that, but her fathers stereotypical comment still pissed her off, and she looked up at him sharply, shaking her head earnestly.

"No, Daddy," she insisted. "Not Jethro. He's not like that."

Her father stood there, frowning, glowering, and then his expression changed and he shuffled into the room. Ike trotted in after him, holding his precious shoe in his mouth. The Colonel rolled his eyes and popped the dog on his mouth, forcing him to drop it. He picked the shoe up and sat down on the end of his daughter's bed. Jenny made a noise of annoyance and rubbed her nose, giving him a glare through her lashes.

"I don't want to be lectured on how unsuitable Marines are," she said testily.

He looked at her calmly.

"I don't think Gibbs is unsuitable," he said shortly. "You ought to know that by now."

"Then what's the disapproving look in your eye?" she asked sarcastically.

"You're upset about this," Jasper pointed out, well aware she was getting snippy because she didn't want to discuss it—which usually meant she was annoyed or anxious. She forgot, sometimes, that he'd raised her by himself so long—he knew her better than anyone.

He checked over his boot for teeth damage, glared at the dog, and then looked back at her.

"This got somethin' to do with the fight you two had?" he asked, gesturing at her healed hand.

She glanced at the tender skin and shook her head, rolling her eyes. She rubbed her nose again, and then she seemed to change her mind, and she looked up, blowing hair out of her face.

"Maybe," she said tersely. "He used to be a brawler, when he was a kid," she said shortly. "He mentioned it, but his Dad's the one who told me. He was pissed after his mom died, and he was real aggressive about this girl he used to take care of," she explained, half-reluctantly, half-earnestly. "The Marines _shaped_ him up. He doesn't like—violence. If you can believe it," she snorted skeptically.

"I can," the Colonel said sharply. He knew what it was like to go from a boy to a man in the uniform—to go from having that fighting, male blood, to realizing that real violence—bloody violence—should be minimized, because real violence was war, and war was hell.

Jasper waited, and Jenny shrugged.

"So, this girl, she died," she revealed in a dull voice. "And I think it really tore him up, and I made him talk about it the other day, 'cause I was jealous and stupid and immature," she said angrily. "And I think it's been weighing down on him. I think I made him deal with it, and he's sensitive to guys treating girls like shit, so," she trailed off, unsure if she was making sense.

She chewed on her lip. She wasn't going to go into the sex aspect of her anxiety; she felt she'd said enough. She felt relieved—she'd been so absorbed in Gibbs lately, she'd forgotten that her father was her first confidant—she'd always trusted him with everything, and he had so much wisdom to offer.

"Nothin' wrong with being jealous, honey."

"Yeah, okay, there is," she said. "I trust him, and plus it wasn't even some girl he was dating, she was like his little sister, and I harassed him about it. You know how _pissed_ I'd be if he harassed me about some guy I dated, or talked to?" she fumed. "I mean, he was pushing me about Kimberly, but," she trailed off. "I feel stupid. I don't think I get what he's going through, and I think I made it worse but he's so," she bit her lip, and then rolled her eyes. "He's such a martyr about everything! He's so—so—_male_."

The Colonel let out a hearty laugh, smiling good-naturedly at Jenny. His irritation at hearing Gibbs had been brawling faded—and he made a mental note to some day apologize for grilling that kid at Thanksgiving dinner. Seemed like Gibbs' past wasn't wholly pleasant.

Jenny pushed her hand through her long, messy hair, and glared at her father dubiously. She grit her teeth—she felt good putting some of it into words; she'd felt conflicted since Jackie called her. But—she didn't want to broadcast the details of her relationship to her father; for some reason, she felt very protective of the things she and Gibbs shared in private.

Jasper tilted his head.

"You were talking to him about your mom?" he asked carefully.

She shot him a sharp, warning look.

"It doesn't matter."

"You never talk about 'er, Jenny," he said. "Not to me," he added with a shrug. "Your grandmother used to tell me you needed a therapist."

"I don't need a therapist," she growled. She looked at him hard for a moment, and then she sighed. "Dad, I can't talk to you about Kimberly because you still love her," she said curtly. "And I hate her guts. I don't want to hurt you."

He opened his mouth, taking a deep breath, but she cut him off.

"I'm done with this topic," she said shortly.

He gave her a sympathetic look, but closed his mouth, deciding not to push it. At least she was talking to someone about it. He hated how toxically she thought about her mother, but at least there was Gibbs to handle that—he snorted to himself, unable to believe he'd just been thankful for that smart ass Corporal.

"Hey, G.I. Jen," he said after a moment.

She grunted at him.

"C'mon, come watch National Geographic with me until Saturday Night Live comes on," he said wickedly.

"Dad," she groaned, laughing—he'd always used to make her watch National Geographic with him—to 'educate' her. She hated it when she was little, but it was also a fond memory, and she brightened up a little at him mentioning it. He got up and tugged on her hair playfully. He tapped his foot impatiently, and then whistled.

"Up, soldier," he ordered.

She rolled her eyes dramatically and got up, throwing her phone towards her pillow and abandoning it. That pleased him—sometimes, she brought it with her and tweeted or texted or whatever while she hung out in his study, and he never felt like she was paying attention when she did.

She left the magazine on the bed and reached for a sweatshirt to take with her, and he innocently happened to tilt his head and realize—

He snatched up the magazine.

"What the hell do you need a _Cosmopolitan_ for?" he growled protectively.

She turned and grabbed it back, hastily closing it and tossing it away carelessly.

"I read it a lot, Dad," she muttered, flushing. "I was looking at the horoscopes."

The Colonel glared at her suspiciously—he wasn't stupid, the magazine had been open to an article. She glared at him a little defiantly.

"Jennifer, why was there a red circle around something in that magazine?" he demanded.

"Holly was joking—it was just a joke," she said desperately. She turned and ran from the room, laughing out of—embarrassment or disbelief. At least he—well, at least he didn't know she'd been sort of academically researching blowjobs all night.

He stormed after her, grumbling, and she turned innocently near the bonus room, eyes wide.

"It was just a recipe circled, Daddy," she tried, abandoning the Holly story.

He gave a loud, derisive snort and narrowed his eyes. She flashed him a grin, and darted into the living room, stifling laughter—she may not want to face her father seriously about sex, but teasing him was a little fun.

"Recipe for Gibbs' demise," she heard him growl, marching into the room with Ike at his side.

Jenny wrinkled her nose and laughed at the expression on her father's face.

* * *

It was early—for her—on Sunday morning when her phone woke her up. She fumbled for it, answered huskily, and started rubbing her eyes.

"Hey, Jen."

"Jethro," she murmured sleepily, curling up under her covers and snuggling up to her pillow. She stared to say something else, but she yawned instead and just waited for him to talk—and he took a while.

"Jackie called you?"

"Mmm-hmm," Jenny murmured. "She doesn't like me," she added dully, waking up a little.

Gibbs laughed, though he sounded wary.

"Look, Jen—" he started.

"Jethro," she interrupted softly. "Not on the phone."

"No," he agreed. "Called to tell you I'm on my way over. Drivin' through Georgetown right now."

She blinked groggily, and then she bolted up in bed.

"What kind of warning is that, you son of a bitch!" she shouted sleepily, panicking. "I was asleep I look like—I'm a hot mess!" she hung up her phone and leapt out of bed, looking around frantically, and stomping her foot.

She had all of—what, five minutes?—to look half-way presentable, and as today was laundry day and she hadn't started it yet, she had nothing to wear. She also didn't have time to get make-up on. Scowling about him, she dashed down the hall to her bathroom and grabbed a toothbrush, deciding that was a good place to start. She spit, rinsed her mouth, and then snatched a comb off the counter and went down the stairs to start coffee. Ike bounded up to her, and she obliged him with a shout of hello and a quick pet—and then, stormed towards her father's study to warn him Gibbs' was on his way over—and stopped in horror.

She had forgotten the Colonel had warned her that Rene Benoit would be over early for a quick meeting before he flew out to France—and there he stood, conversing coolly with the colonel, enjoying a morning cigar—and there she stood, in pajamas, her hair a knotted mess, looking half-panicked.

Annoyingly, her father smirked at her.

"Ah, Jenny," Rene said, standing courteously. "It has been a while since I've seen you," he said—and Jenny glared at him, because the first thing he did was let his eyes roam over her, focusing on her chest.

Jenny crossed her arms tensely.

"Monsieur Benoit," she greeted stiffly. She inclined her head. "Excuse me, I need my father for a moment." She sidestepped the businessman and leaned on her father's desk. "Gibbs is on his way over," she hissed dryly. "He didn't warn me."

The Colonel nodded.

"Leave your bedroom door open if he comes inside," he warned tersely.

Jenny nodded, and turned to go, holding her shoulders in as dignified a way as possible as she passed Rene.

"Ah, is Gibbs this boyfriend your father tells me about?" Rene asked. He chuckled. "You must have him escort you to the benefit," he remarked. "You will be attending the benefit this year, Mademoiselle?"

"Oh, I—"

"Jennifer will be there, as always," the Colonel said sternly, shooting her a look.

Jenny smiled in a sickly-sweet way and simply nodded—and wiped the look off of her face as soon as she was no longer facing Rene. She started to dash back up stairs for something—when the doorbell rang, and Ike went howling down the hall.

"Fuck," she swore under her breath.

She sighed, closed her eyes briefly, and then tucked her comb into the waistbands of her striped pajama pants and stalked to the front door regally. She opened it, glared pointedly at Gibbs for a moment, and then stepped outside.

He looked taken aback, and she silently, defiantly, dared him to mock her appearance—but he was focused on something else entirely.

"Jen, you're barefoot. There's ice on the ground," he pointed out.

She did not look down. She folded her arms and lifted her chin and glared at him.

"You pissed at me?" he asked, erring on the side of caution.

"You kicked some guy's ass when I wasn't even there to be offended by whatever he said?" she demanded.

Gibbs gave her an annoyed look.

"It offended me!" he retorted, outraged.

She looked at him for a moment, and then her stern glare melted into a bit of a smirk. She laughed, and turned to open the door, beckoning him in.

"Ooh, my macho man," she teased, grinning when Ike greeted Jethro by leaping up against his chest and barking excitedly.

Gibbs placated the dog's excitement, and she indicated he should greet the Colonel while she got coffee. It didn't take her long, and she tilted her head towards the stairs, leading them up to her bedroom. She left the door open, handed him his mug, and got back into bed, covering up. She drew her knees up to her chest and balanced her mug on her knees, warming her palms with it. He sat down heavily in her window seat and leaned forward on his knees. His brow furrowed, and he glared into his mug. She sipped hers; shivering a little, rubbing her feet together, and then she cleared her throat.

"Why'd you fight him, Jethro?" she asked simply. "It's chivalrous, sure," she muttered. "It could have hurt your career."

He cleared his throat.

"I'm still goin' to sniper school," he said roughly, and then he shrugged. "Didn't like how he talked about you," he muttered. He glanced at Jenny's open door and lowered his voice, his eyes on Ike as the dog came ambling in and nudged his knees affectionately. "It's nothin' Jen."

She chewed on her lip, and closed her lips over the rim of her mug.

"Jethro, I," she started. She took a deep breath. "I know I—brought up some bad stuff when you talked about…Shannon," she said, finishing softly.

He didn't say anything. Finally, he shrugged and tapped his finger on his mug loudly.

"Guy thought I was goin' after his girl, Matteson," he snapped. "Got aggressive. Reminded me how guys used to treat Shannon like property," he revealed tersely.

Jenny watched his knuckles turn white.

"Fightin' is cathartic," he said, almost as if he was remembering.

Jenny lowered her eyes.

"Matteson?" she asked in a small voice. "You were out with a girl?"

"No," Gibbs corrected sharply. "I ran into her outside of a bar. I took her out once or twice, but it was years ago," he told her bluntly. "I caught up with her, let her bust my chops about not beatin' her times."

Jenny chewed on her lip. She took a long sip of her coffee, and then she took a deep breath.

"Jackie…said the guy was mocking you because we haven't—" she wasn't sure if she trailed off, or if he just interrupted because he wanted to, but he gave her a violent look.

"Jackie should've kept her mouth shut," he said.

Jenny looked at him with trepidation.

"You don't talk about me-? What—we do-?"

"No," he growled firmly, shaking his head emphatically. "Jesus Jen, I don't care," he mumbled, waving is head. "It wasn't about you, it was," he faltered.

"Shannon," Jenny said. She sighed, and lowered her legs.

"No," he said again. He rubbed his jaw. "Mom killed herself in December."

Jenny's eyes widened. Her breath caught. She held her cup for a moment, sitting still, and then she got up and shuffled over to him slowly, suddenly not caring if she was in old frayed pajama pants and a stupid unflattering t-shirt. She took his coffee from him and stood near him, touching his temple gently. She understood that anger, the pent up resentment. Even if he had loved his mother, and she'd been a good mother—she'd killed herself; she'd left him, in a way.

Jenny crouched down and pressed her nose against his knee. He made a gruff noise, and then brushed his fingers against her cheek. She smiled at him sadly. He looked back dully, and then his jaw tightened, and his eyes flashed. She watched the anger and the pain bolt through his eyes, and then it was gone again, and she kissed his knee through his jeans.

"You should have come over," she offered. She hesitated, thinking about adding 'if you were feeling sad,' but she didn't want to get too emotional with him—it spooked him more than it helped him. He ran his hand through her hair, and tugged her hair back so she was looking up at him.

"Jackie told me what you said," he mumbled. He arched an eyebrow. "About the bullshit."

She smiled, eyes sparkling.

"It's why you love me," she teased dramatically, hardly thinking twice about the word.

He smiled and nearly picked her up, pulling her into his lap. Ike growled warily, but Jenny giggled and the dog backed off, wagging his tail instead. Gibbs wrapped his arms around her, and she tucked her head under his chin, snuggling up—he was warm, even though he'd come in from the cold.

She smiled, and pressed a chaste kiss to his jaw, pressing her hand against his chest.

"I know you're still havin' a hard time with that girl's death, Jethro," she said bravely.

"It was five years ago," he muttered gruffly.

"You didn't deal with it," she said simply. She sighed, and pressed herself into him, straightening up and grabbing his face.

"Couldn't," he said, after a long time.

She smiled gently, and just nodded. He tugged on her hair a little playfully, and then boldly pinched her high on the back of her thigh—she shrieked, and slapped his chest in mock outrage.

"Scandalous," she hissed.

"Prison changes a man," he said seriously.

She laughed, and scrambled off his lab.

"I do declare, you're the cutest jailbird I ever did see," she began, and then snatched her comb out of her waistband, ran it through her hair, and used it as a microphone. "_I sure would be delighted with your company—come on and do the jailhouse rock with me_," she wailed, in her best Elvis impression.

He rolled his eyes and grabbed for her, but she resisted, and he had to stand up and snatch her against his chest. She kicked at him feebly, still laughing.

"Thought you were a Sinatra girl," he drawled.

She spun out of his grasp suddenly, and began a ballad—

"_When I was seventeen—it was a very good year_," she sang.

He gave her a smug look.

"You're damn right," he said proudly.

He picked her up and dropped her on her bed, and she dashed for the covers, crawling under them and peeking out. He stretched out next to her and tilted his head, looking at her neck smugly. She gave him a suspicious look, and when he leaned over threateningly with his teeth, she squealed.

"No, Jethro—god, Dad only looked at that hickey when he talked to me, it was so awful," she hissed, laughing.

Gibbs grinned and eased back, looking smug still. She relaxed after a moment, and turned towards him, still under the covers with him on top of them. She chewed on her lip and then reached for his hand, interlocking their fingers.

"What are you doing for Christmas?" she asked slowly.

He took a deep breath.

"I got leave," he said firmly, and that's where he—faltered. "I'm—goin' back to Stillwater," he said slowly.

Jenny lifted her eyebrows, and parted her lips—but she said nothing.

"I got to set some things straight," he muttered, and then narrowed his eyes at her. "Your fault," he growled.

"Me?"

"You, got me thinkin'," he grumbled. "You want your mom to give a damn about you," he said, and shrugged. "I give my old man a lot of crap, but I got' im," he managed roughly. "The way I left, after Shannon died…wasn't pretty, Jen."

"I figured," she said softly.

"I owe her Mama somethin'."

Jenny nodded.

"Okay," she said, leaning forward. Her eyes searched his. "I think—the Colonel would appreciate a Christmas alone with me," she said honestly. "It's a big—commitment holiday, anyway. I'll miss you," she said. "But—you should go. Fix…whatever is wrong with you and your dad."

"Takes more'n one visit," he growled, his features dark again—he swallowed the annoyance, though and looked at her defiantly. "I'm not scared of Christmas with you," he added firmly.

She lay down and rolled into him happily, just nodding, pleased with his statement. She blinked up at him, and then sat up, grabbing him earnestly.

"You can't—you can't leave until after December twenty-first, though," she said. "You—I want to escort me to the Benoit Benefit, that guy downstairs? Every year I have to go, and Daddy parades me around—don't leave me hanging."

"Formal affair?" he whined.

"Oh, you can wear your dress blues," she said, and then her eyes lit up again. "Wear them—I'll do my hair like—I don't know, like some pin-up girl," she bribed.

He grinned, and then pretended to make a big deal thinking it over. He nodded—he didn't mind escorting her to some thing—he figured he'd probably need to take her to prom in a few months, anyway, and a trial run would be good.

"We'll do presents that evening," she said, biting her lip.

"Whatever you want, Jen," he muttered.

He leaned forward and kissed her, and she smirked, sliding her arms around him. She pulled him closer, not thinking twice about her being in her pajamas, and her door being open—and him sort of moving on top of her and pressing his hand against her hip—that is, she didn't think twice, until she heard footsteps on the stairs, and she suddenly remembered, and she shoved Gibbs unceremoniously onto the floor and tried to look innocent.

The Colonel glared into the room.

"Get off my daughter, Corporal," he barked.

"I'm on the floor, sir," Gibbs answered seriously.

The Colonel pointed critically at Jenny.

"That's 'cause she just threw you there," he snapped astutely.

He stood glaring for another moment and then slowly skulked off, apparently done with his business meeting.

Jenny bit her lip and widened her eyes. Gibbs glared at her from her bedroom floor.

She called Ike up onto the bed, snuggled up with him pointedly, and blew her boyfriend an impish kiss.

* * *

_feedback appreciated ! _

_-alexandra_


	11. Thane of Lochaber

_A/N:__ I love this chapter a lot, mostly because it's so nice to write Gibbs as affectionate and capable of working through his issues, sigh. [although, God, he was so sweet and so cute with McGee in this past episode, oh my god oh my god]._

_Chapter Nine_

_Thane of Lochaber_

* * *

Jenny held her breath as she watched Holly critically examine the gift she'd gotten for Gibbs—she trusted Holly's opinion; Holly was an expert in purchasing boyfriend's presents. She had Mark's birthday, Mark's Christmas, their anniversary—and she always got Mark's father a present—so yes; Holly was the number one authority, and this evening, she was bearing judgment on Jenny's taste.

Holly whistled finally, and nodded. She held her palm out, balancing the sleek black pocketknife carefully. Jenny reached out and took it delicately, carefully tucking the blade back into the handle.

"Damn," Holly said approvingly. "It's a really hot knife, Jenny," she said, smirking a little. "Yeah, he's totally gonna like it. Like I said—guys, knives, good match," she nodded again, chewing thoughtfully on her gum, and flopped back in Jenny's window seat.

Jenny grinned, running her fingers over the knife. She'd spent a lot of time in hardware stories fussing over the right choice and arguing with salesmen who thought she was nothing more than a silly girl, and she'd finally settled on this one. She was relieved to know Holly approved—she planned on getting her father's opinion tomorrow morning, when his Christmas leave began. He'd been so occupied lately, she'd decided not to distract him by chattering on about Gibbs' Christmas gift—and tomorrow was her last chance; she and Gibbs were doing gifts before he left for Stillwater.

"I love that you had the blade monogrammed; that's super cute," Holly said, her eyes sparkling.

"It's not monogrammed; it's engraved!" Jenny protested, her jaw dropping.

Holly blinked at her.

"With his initials," she said slowly, shrugging.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, so," Holly retorted, snorting. "It's a monogram, you idiot."

"It's an _engraving_!" Jenny insisted.

Holly lifted her nose and sniffed.

"Semantics," she laughed, pushing her hair back. She pulled her phone out of her pocket to check her text messages.

Jenny gave her a panicked look and threw herself down on her bed, groaning. She sat up, blowing hair out of her face, and glared at her friend.

"Holly, _don't_ utter the world monogram around Jethro. He'll throw himself out of a window."

"What, and he'll think of it differently if you call it an _engraving_?"

"Yes," Jenny retorted emphatically. She hadn't even considered that it would seem like a monogram—she'd thought it was a nice idea to have a jeweler inscribe his initials on the knife—small, not too noticeable—but now she was having second thoughts. "Maybe I should have gotten his military ID number," she said with a wince.

Holly shrugged, typing away on her phone.

"No, I think Gibbs will like it no matter what," she said absently, her eyes on her text message. "He's kind of a loon about you."

Jenny laughed.

"What are you talking about?" she giggled.

"I mean, not that you bring him around us much—but when he is around, if you're not speaking to him, he just looks at you. Not in a creepy way, but he just looks at you. Like if he blinks, you might disappear," Holly explained. She shrugged, still concentrating on other things. "It's cute."

Jenny chewed her lip, thinking about it a moment. She smiled a little, her nose crinkling, and tilted her head at Holly.

"You think I don't want him around you and Nina?" she asked, sensing Holly had gotten a little touchy—and remembering that Kensi had made a remark about that, too.

Holly looked up, finished with her text, and shrugged.

"I mean, Mark knows you guys really well, but Nina and I don't know Gibbs, or his friends. I guess it's the age difference."

"I don't want to drag him to hang out with a bunch of high schoolers," Jenny said warily.

"Well, he's dating a high schooler," Holly said testily. "He obviously doesn't think we're that immature." She raised her eyebrows. "Look, he's got a job, he's older, he's busy, I get that. I just…you don't have to turn down plans with him to hang out with us like you do, like when it's a movie? Just bring him. He and Mark can talk about football or something."

Jenny nodded her head, frowning a little—she supposed Holly was right; Gibbs' age difference did mean she tended to think of things in terms of 'her' world and 'his' world, and the only time they merged was when she and him were together—alone.

"What's he getting you? Do you know?" Holly asked.

"Not a damn clue," Jenny said, her eyes widening. "He's so tight-lipped—well, about everything—he just said I had to come to his apartment to get it, so we're doing gifts there tomorrow."

"I thought he was going home tomorrow?"

"He is," Jenny confirmed. "Late. He's putting it off," she said wryly. She stood up and went to her closet, ruffling through to the back where her dress for the Benoit benefit was. "I'm just glad he agreed to escort me to the benefit—god, I'm so sick of going every year solo and putting up with Jeanne's snobby bullshit."

"Ha," Holly snorted, "and this year she'll be flaunting DiNozzo, so you definitely need Gibbs as a buffer."

Jenny shrugged, pulling the dress out and holding it up to her critically. She smiled, and laid it carefully over the chair by her vanity.

"That doesn't worry me," she said.

"That Gibbs is going to be in the same room with some guy you jerked off?" Holly asked, raising her eyebrows.

Jenny shot her a warning glare and stormed over to shut her door, on the off chance her father was anywhere near.

"No," she said firmly. "It's none of his business, just like his previous romantic entanglements are none of mine."

"Well, they are," Holly said flatly. "At least, they are when you start having sex. You need to know if he's been with any diseased strumpets."

"Nicely put," Jenny snorted, rolling her eyes. She shrugged. "He said he's only had three ex-girlfriends."

Holly shrugged.

"So? You don't have to call someone a girlfriend to fuck her. He's military. It's totally likely he's had a zillion one night stands—I mean, hello, Fleet Week."

Jenny shrugged again, in a nonchalant manner, and glanced at the clock on her dresser—she needed to start getting ready soon—she'd ordered Gibbs to get here two hours early so he could entertain her while she went through the process, but she knew she should at least be out of the shower and in shorts and a t-shirt before he got here, or her Dad was likely to chair him in the bonus room again.

She pranced over to her desk and pulled up a stool, pulling out her rarely used, expensive make-up for the night's occasion—and as she picked through it, she steeled herself for the conversation she was about to start, and tilted her head, trying to remain careless.

"Hol, you're on the pill, right?"

"Yeah," Holly answered flippantly. Jenny glanced at her in the vanity's mirror, and noticed Holly was examining her nail polish with a critical eye.

"You like it?"

Holly shrugged.

"I mean, I gained eight pounds when I first started," she said with a frown. "But it makes me feel safer than condoms, and the sex is better, without them," she added frankly. "And, I mean, I make sure I take it, and I've never been pregnant, so there's that." Holly looked up sharply. "Why?"

Jenny shrugged as calmly as possible.

"So, the first time you had sex, you used a condom?"

"No, actually," Holly said shortly. "I was an idiot, and we didn't talk about it, so we were just going at it in the back of Mark's car, and I made him pull out," she explained, rolling her eyes. "I wouldn't suggest that. I'm lucky I didn't get pregnant."

"You _were_ fifteen," Jenny said dryly.

Holly shot her a sharp look.

"Yes—I remember," she said tartly. She swallowed. "You never ask about my sex life—why?" she demanded again.

Jenny popped the lid off of some Yves St. Lauren lipstick and examined the colour—it would go nicely with her dress.

"I was considering starting birth control," she said lightly. She hesitated. "You are really my only resource on the matter," she admitted bitterly—thinking how it was unfair that she didn't have a mother, or even her grandmother, for this kind of thing. "I obviously cannot bring it up with Daddy."

"No," Holly said logically. "I assume the Colonel would react badly—"

"So badly—"

"He'd club Gibbs with a baseball bat—"

"A golf club, probably—"

"So, that's that," Holly laughed.

Jenny grinned, leaning back and looking at her in the mirror. She chewed her lip, and turned around slightly, pushing her hair back.

"Do you think your mom would-?" she began hesitantly. "I mean, take me to get it?"

Holly chewed on her lip.

"I," she sighed. "You know my parents are super liberal, and she'd totally help you but," Holly frowned, "she wouldn't go behind your dad's back. She'd want his permission, like, explicitly. She'd ask." Holly said.

Jenny rubbed her forehead. She muttered under her breath and shook her head.

"I don't want to talk to him about it," she said again, resigned.

"Jazz'd castrate Gibbs," Holly joked.

"I don't know, Hol," Jenny said tensely. "The one time I mentioned it..."

"You mentioned it? Brave."

"He was against it, but you know he doesn't want me to get pregnant, obviously...I'll figure it out," Jenny said airily, pretending not to care.

"You could check out a Planned Parenthood, they'd hook you up." Holly said.

Jenny made another face, and Holly sat forward, resting her palms on her knees and raising her eyebrows sharply. She noticed the conflicted look on Jenny's face, and tilted her head.

"You need it like—now?" she asked invasively.

Jenny clammed up. She shook her head.

"It was a thought," she said, an edge to her voice. "It doesn't matter; I'll figure something out," she added, without thinking.

Holly squealed a little.

"Wait, so—you're going to fuck him?" she asked excitedly, smiling. "What's the plan?"

"I'm not planning anything," Jenny retorted, annoyed. "I was considering a precautionary, pre-emptive maneuver—forget it, Holly; we're not _fucking_," she said, the word sour in her mouth.

"Fine, _making love_," Holly snorted, teasing.

"No," Jenny said, spluttering. "Holly—goddamnit, you are so determined for me to have sex with him, when we've only been dating—"

"Yes, I know," Holly interrupted, her face falling suddenly. "You haven't been dating a socially accepted amount of time, so you're a pure princess who won't put out," she said acrimoniously. "You remind me of that frequently, which incidentally also subtly puts me down for how quickly _I_ chose to have sex."

Jenny blinked at her, her cheeks flushing.

"I don't—"

"Yes, you do," Holly snapped, sitting up straighter.

"You won't—you won't leave me alone about the sex thing!" Jenny said defensively.

"_You're_ the one who brought up birth control!" Holly barked, swinging her legs off the window seat. "I was responding to you asking for my advice—and then you go and freak out when I'm honest, or when I express interest—because you never _actually_ share your feelings about him—"

"You're so crass and flippant about it!" Jenny burst out. "You're always acting like you're the big girl because you've had sex, and Nina and I are sweet little virgins who're beneath you—not everyone just thinks it's no big deal, Holly!"

"That's _all_ in your head—you can be such a self-righteous _bitch_ sometimes, Jenny!" Holly shouted, her eyes filling with tears. "Look—I know how you looked at me when I told you guys I had sex, and I know you thought it was stupid—and I like Mark, and I like having sex with him, but you don't know if I regret doing it so fast, because _you've_ never asked, and you don't know how uncomfortable I feel around you and Nina because you guys are so smart and careful and I'm not like that—so did you stop to think for like a second that maybe I act so _flippant_ and so _crass_ because you are so judgmental, and you think you're on such a pedestal because you're such an untouched—little—maiden!"

"You act like I'm such a child because I'm a virgin!" Jenny snapped back bitterly. "You act like I'm such a poor dear, missing out on everything—and like I'm a coward, and you act like my relationship is childish and boring because I'm_—thinking_ it through, and I'm not just _giving_ it away—"

Holly stomped her foot—she looked like she was about to pull Jenny's hair and kick her. She tossed her hair back furiously and pointed.

"That's what I'm talking about—_that_! You think I'm a stupid slut—I am your friend, and I can tell you think I'm this dumb cheerleader who just fucked the first boy who made her feel pretty—you don't even _get_ that I act how I do about sex because you make me feel so insecure about my decision, that made me happy, and I have to find some why to try and make myself feel like you respect me—"

"I don't think you're a stupid slut—"

"Sex _intimidates_ you, Jenny, and you _hate_ it that I did it before _you_—"

"You don't know what you're talking about Holly," Jenny snapped nastily, interrupting her. "You're jealous that Gibbs isn't pressuring me when Mark _obviously_ pressured you—"

"You think Mark's the only one who wanted to do it? You think boys are the only ones who like having orgasms, Jenny?" shouted Holly. She laughed cruelly. "You really want to stand there and act like you asked for birth control advice for _Gibbs'_ pleasure? I don't give a fuck if you want to sleep with Gibbs—you should be safe, and happy, and that's your business—and that's why I try to talk to you, because I know, okay? I have experience—"

"You think you know everything about it, Holly, but you don't!" shouted Jenny.

"That's the fucking point!" Holly screamed. "I don't know it all, but I know _something,_ and maybe if you talked to me and got off your fucking high horse for a second I could give you some pointers—like don't let Gibbs put it in before you're ready, 'cause otherwise, it will hurt—"

"Shut the fuck up, Holly, my dad will hear you!" Jenny bellowed, forgetting to keep her voice down herself.

Holly swiped at her eyes, her face flushed—her eyes furious. She grabbed her things from the window seat and held them in her hands, her lips shaking. She laughed meanly and wiped at her eyes hastily again.

"Why do you care?" she demanded hoarsely. "Don't you want him to know you're still a perfect little innocent virgin?" she snapped, storming past Jenny and leaving the room in a rush.

"HOLLY!" Jenny shouted—she swallowed hard, tears leaping to her own eyes.

She hated fighting with Holly—and this was the worst fight she'd ever had; she was mad, and she was defensive concerning what she'd been accused of, but as she heard the door slam behind Holly, she had the sinking, nauseous feeling that Holly had a point. She lashed out and shoved her stool over, scattering her make-up box. She gasped, and tears spilled down her cheeks—she hadn't meant to start such a fight, and now she was scared her father had over heard, and her heart was slamming against her chest because she was starting to see Holly's side.

She wiped at her eyes and dashed to her window seat, yanking her robe from the corner, and spinning on her heel—she was frantically searching for underwear to take with her into the bathroom when there was a wary knock on her door.

She pushed her hair back, trying to compose her face, and looked up—and her father stood there, looking wary.

"Gibbs is here," he said, his tone neutral and quiet. He stepped to the side and extended his arm, showing Gibbs in. He looked at his daughter warily for a moment—he had been wondering why she hadn't come flying down the stairs to greet Gibbs, and had gotten the door himself, and that's when the shouting had escalated, and Holly Daniels had stormed out crying.

Jenny hastily rubbed her hand over her face and straightened up, clutching things to her chest. The Colonel was slightly annoyed to see the underwear in her hands—mostly because that meant Gibbs could see it, and Jasper Shepard was one hundred percent not okay with Gibbs knowing what kind of underwear his daughter wore.

"Did you hear anything?" Jenny demanded quickly.

Gibbs shrugged, looking at her intently. He shook his head, and the Colonel raised his eyes to the ceiling. Jenny groaned, wincing a little—she knew her father wasn't going to say anything, but they must have heard. Her father looked at Gibbs, gave her a look, and then backed out. He tapped the door.

"This stays open," he warned awkwardly, disappearing.

Jenny closed her eyes and sat down heavily on her window seat, burying her face in her hands. She took a deep breath and tried not to cry, but when Gibbs moved some books and sat down next to her, she lifted her head and her lips trembled.

He shrugged.

"All I heard was my name," he said. "Holly not like me?"

Jenny smiled weakly, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"It's not that," she said shakily, biting her lip. "She's just—she's so," she stopped, shaking her head furiously.

Gibbs tilted his head. He raised his eyebrows.

"This got somethin' to do with me?" he asked warily.

"I don't want to talk about it," she burst out, frustrated. She put her head in her hands, burying her face in her robe and the panties she'd chosen.

Gibbs considered her for a moment, and then he scooted closer and put his arm around her, tucking her head under his chin. She sucked in her breath, shaking her head and mumbling to herself, and he placed a kiss to her temple, rubbing his nose against her gently. She seemed to like that, because she leaned against him and—after a moment—calmed down.

She tilted her head up, and he gave her a solemn look and snatched her panties away from her.

"Nice hankie," he complimented, for lack of anything better to say.

She sniffed; narrowing her eyes, and tried to snatch it back.

"No, 'm keepin' 'em," he said, deadpan. "That bra's all lonely."

She laughed, her voice cracking a little, and straightened up. She held her hand out for them, and he gave her a smug look and clutched them between his teeth, shaking his head a little, arching his brows suggestively. She returned the arched brow look.

"You sure those are clean?" she asked.

He opened is mouth and let them fall into her waiting hand. She held them to her chest, eyeing him for a moment. She sucked in her breath, still trying to calm down—and glad he was being sweet, and distracting her with his antics. She stood up.

"You gonna wear 'em after I put 'em in my mouth?" he asked skeptically.

She laughed.

"Yeah," she said, smirking, "seems like a promising indication of the future," she teased.

He gave her a slightly stunned, impressed look, and she flushed and turned, excusing herself to the shower—he leaned back in the window seat, dwelling on what she and her friend had been fighting about that involved him—he really hadn't heard anything other than his name, but the Colonel had certainly looked pale about whatever was being screamed from the rooftops.

* * *

The minute the Colonel heard the shower start, he dragged Gibbs out of Jennifer's room and downstairs into the study, where he made him sit on the leather sofa where he could watch him like a hawk. For a moment, he worked and smoked his cigar as if nothing were amiss—and then he decided it might be polite to converse with the annoying boyfriend sitting in his study, so he leaned back and glared at Gibbs aggressively.

Gibbs looked back at him with an annoying unreadable expression on his face.

"She tell you what the hell all that was about?" he grunted warily, gesturing wildly around at nothing.

Gibbs shook his head.

"No, sir," he answered firmly.

"Hmpf," growled Jasper. "She doesn't usually fight with her friends," he muttered warily. He looked up and shot Gibbs a withering look. "Hey," he barked, deciding to implement the element of surprise. "You doin' anything that might make my daughter feel pressured to do somethin' she's not ready for?" he demanded.

He realized it was the most awkward statement he'd ever yelled at a young Marine, and he'd yelled at a lot of young Marines, but he refused to let on that he was embarrassed—he concentrated on putting the fear of God into Gibbs with a ruthless glare.

Gibbs blinked.

"No," he made the fatal mistake of hesitating before he said, "sir."

He hesitated—because Jenny had never said anything. He hadn't gone any further than touching her under her shirt—and he figured she'd have said something if that offended her—

Jasper glared at him in a sort of calmly murderous fashion. He pointed with his cigar.

"I told you once that I know every JAG lawyer in the area," he growled threateningly.

Gibbs just nodded, using most of his self-control to keep his face completely blank. The Colonel kept glaring at him critically.

"She's a good girl, sir," Gibbs said suddenly, his face unchanging.

"I know that, Corporal," the Colonel said, in a dangerously soft tone. "You let her be," he advised, and then leaned back heavily. He narrowed his eyes and then tapped his cigar out a little. "She tells me you're goin' home for Christmas?"

Gibbs nodded warily. He clenched his jaw, and then inclined his head.

"Settin' some things right, Colonel," he offered neutrally.

"Good man," Jasper said, nodding curtly. "You start up at Quantico scout school, when?"

"First week of January," Gibbs said.

The Colonel leaned forward suddenly, catching Gibbs' eye.

"Jennifer tells me you want her to spend New Year's Eve with you," he said, his expression dark.

"I asked her to, sir," Gibbs answered. "With your permission."

"Kiss-ass," growled Jasper immediately. He continued to glare at Gibbs, and then tilted his head, cracking muscles in his neck loudly. "She says she'll be with you, and Vance's boy, and she's takin' Nina with her?"

Gibbs nodded affirmatively. The Colonel still didn't let up his brutal gaze.

"You think she should get her curfew extended to one a.m.?" he asked sharply.

Gibbs figured it was a trick question, and he chose his words carefully. He shrugged a little, glancing up towards the ceiling—he heard heavy footsteps running around in a hurry. A few minutes later, Ike came bounding into the study—his fur was damp with steam. Gibbs reached out to pet him, grinning a little at the thought of him so peacefully sleeping in the bathroom while Jenny showered—apparently, it was a habit he had. After a moment, Gibbs looked back at the Colonel.

"I want her to be with me," he said slowly. He lifted his chin. "I wouldn't do a damn thing to hurt her."

The Colonel eyed him closely, considering. He snorted, committing to nothing, and leaned back, his eyes on the dog. There were footsteps, and then Jenny hopped into the study, shaking a towel through her hair.

"Daddy," she said brightly. She scrunched up her nose, reacting to the cigar smoke. "Can I have him?" she asked.

The Colonel blinked at her.

"Put some goddamn clothes on!" he shouted, scandalized.

She looked down—at her little pajama shorts, and her camisole, and her fluffy robe, tied loosely. She smiled and gestured at herself, holding the towel.

"These are clothes," she said blithely, snatching Gibbs and yanking him with her.

"Pajamas are not—JENNIFER," shouted the Colonel after them. "Leave that door OPEN—GIBBS, YOU'D DAMN WELL BETTER BE IN MY STUDY WHILE SHE'S GETTING DRESSED!"

* * *

He sat in her window seat while she went through the process of getting ready—drying her hair, slowly applying make-up, fussing over lipstick colours, lacquering a clear coat over her already painted nails.

He liked watching—it was surreal to watch her go from a clean, fresh face, to a face full of make-up—he liked both, because Jenny was a damn good-looking girl, and he appreciated all forms of that attractiveness. He thought it was weird—she was ready to go—hair down, face done, nails done, shoes on—and yet she hadn't put her dress on yet, and she turned around and walked over to him. She sat down on his lap, and he placed his hands on her hips, glancing up at her.

He twisted his fingers in the ends of her curled hair, admiring it—and he leaned closer, breathing her in. She smiled, and pulled his head up, nudging his nose with hers and giving him a kiss.

"You need help getting' that dress on?" he asked, almost hopefully.

There was so little material to her pajamas, his mouth was dry—it distracted him. He slid his hand down her hip to her thigh, and it rested there. She turned slightly and glanced at the open door a little apprehensively, but then she turned back. She reached for his hand and pressed her fingers against his, pulling his hand up a little higher.

He raised his eyebrows at her, and she flushed.

He smirked, and laughed shortly.

"Jesus, Jen, that blush," he said hoarsely.

She laughed, flushing again, and she stood up, standing between his knees. She stroked his jaw and then popped him affectionately on the cheek with her palm.

"You, go wait at the foot of the stairs," she said gently, kicking him out.

He gave her a long-suffering look, and stood up, brushing past her and leaving her to shiver a little. She followed him, and then shut and locked the door—obediently following her father's rules, even though the longing look in his eyes made her feel a little powerful, and kind of made her want to change with him right there in the room—

She shook the thoughts away, and slipped on her dress, checking herself in her full-length mirror one last time before she grabbed her clutch and her coat and made her grand appearance, taking the stairs gracefully—and he, obediently, was waiting at the bottom for her, looking strikingly handsome in his dress blues. His eyes raked over her, the simple, belted, dark green plaid dress that made her eyes sparkly—the sky-high black heels, startling dark make-up—it all came together brilliantly, and she'd chosen to wear no jewelry, something that worked in her favor.

He placed his hands on her waist and swallowed—to think, moments ago he'd been dying to see her naked, and now he was so caught up in how stunning she looked in this dress, he didn't care if she was ever naked.

He just nodded approvingly, and she smiled at him.

The Colonel came stomping down the stairs in his dress uniform, the dog at his heels. He was holding his cover in one hand—for the walk to the metro—and in the other hand, he had a yardstick.

Jenny narrowed her eyes.

"Dad," she began.

He glared at her defiantly.

"What is the yardstick for?" she asked warily.

He held it out horizontally.

"To ensure there is three feet between the two of you when dancing," he growled matter-of-factly.

He smacked it loudly against the bannister, and Ike barked. Jenny's mouth fell open but—to her utter surprise—Gibbs laughed—and then quickly pretended he was coughing, because the look on the Colonel's face indicated it was very much not a joke.

* * *

The Benoit Benefit, in theory, was a beautiful, charming event—held every year so Rene Benoit could unload some of his wealth onto charities, and convince others in cahoots with him to do the same for what they claimed was the well-being of mankind, but really was nothing more than the desire for a tax write-off. She had used to love it—when she was little, and the darling of everyone's eye—but then she'd gotten older, and Rene Benoit had gotten slimier, and she and Jeanne had stopped getting along—so since she'd turned fifteen, she'd dreaded the banquet every year.

Ah, but this year—this year, it wasn't so bad. It turned out—Gibbs had a particular distaste for rich snobs and black-tie events, so his snarky, under-the-breath comments made her evening almost unbearably funny—and even though her father was watching them like a hawk, and she had to be polite and courteous to so many people who knew her by name—it was almost enjoyable.

"Jenny!"

The saccharine, sweet voice made her roll her eyes, and she turned around with a glass of punch in her hand, shooting Gibbs a smart look first, and she flashed a dazzling grin at Jeanne.

"_Bonjour_," she greeted lightly, leaning forward to kiss the other girl's cheek.

Jeanne returned the European greeting, the look on her face so clearly fake that Gibbs raised his eyebrows—he recognized her; she was the girl who had glared so meanly at Jenny at the football game ages ago.

"This is Jethro," Jenny said politely. "My boyfriend."

The guy on Jeanne's arm looked Gibbs up and down in a smug way, and Jeanne clung to him girlishly, stroking his arm.

"You've met Tony, of course," Jeanne trilled, narrowing her eyes.

Tony DiNozzo nodded his head gallantly, looked over Jenny approvingly, and slung his arm around Jeanne—and Jenny couldn't help but smirk, because he was such a playboy, and she knew she'd had a hand in making him think he was irresistible, because of her little hook-up with him last year.

"Hey, Jen," he greeted breezily.

"Jenny," she corrected mildly, inclining her head.

Jeanne, affronted at the correction, nodded at Gibbs.

"I heard him call you Jen—on the dance floor," she said. She sniffed. She gave Jenny a bit of a cold look. "You know, Tony's starting on the football team this year—and you still think he's beneath you," she remarked, as if it were casual.

"Jeanne," Tony said, rolling his eyes. He rubbed the back of his head, and Jeanne just shot Jenny a nasty look. DiNozzo tugged on her arm, trying to coax her away coolly, and Jeanne cast disapproving look at Jenny's dress.

"You still can't get it through your head that plaid is tacky," she said, turning on her heel and dragging DiNozzo away.

Gibbs raised his eyebrow and then clanked sideways at Jenny. She turned to him solemnly.

"Go ahead. I can take it," she sighed dramatically.

"What?"

"You heard her—I'm tacky. Break up with me," she said, leaning forward and grabbing his shoulders tightly. "But please—before you do—oh, Jethro, let me keep my dignity, get me my coat so I can cover up," she lamented.

He snorted and took her waist in his hands, gently pushing her back. He tilted his head and glanced in the direction Jeanne and Tony had gone.

"What's her problem with you?"

"I don't know," Jenny said, exasperated. "We used to be friends—grew up all over the place together, because of her dad's contract with mine. I moved back to DC permanently, and then she'd been in private school, and at the benefit when we were thirteen I had a red, wool plaid skirt on and she told me I didn't have any taste, and it was a shame my Dad hadn't gotten out of the Army like hers—she changed, got all caught up in this weird world of rich snobs," Jenny sighed. She shrugged. "And now, she thinks her boyfriend wants me—and at the same time, she thinks I treat him like crap."

Gibbs snorted.

"Women," he growled.

She poked him in the chest rudely, and tilted her head up. He smirked at her, and then gestured her over to a table, where they sat down with punch and she leaned back and sighed, tilting her head. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and watched her.

He rested his palm on her knee and ran it back and forth, surveying the room—he was bored out of his mind, but he sensed she was too, and that made it better.

"We still on for tomorrow night?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm," she murmured. "And I'll actually cook this time—no fiascos," she said, laughing as she met his eyes.

They planned to do dinner and gifts before he hit the road for Stillwater—and she was excited for it; she had to work all day before that, and it would be a welcome relief to see him before he left.

"Kind of wish you were going to be here for Christmas," she said, shrugging a little.

He considered her, and then smirked. He didn't say anything—but he suddenly felt incredibly happy, that she'd said that to him—it was a nice admission, an emotional one, and he relished it. She pushed her hair back and leaned forward, giving him a look.

"What?" she asked, biting her lip. "What's that look?" she asked. She smirked. "You know, Holly said—" she started, and then she stopped, and her smile fell.

Gibbs frowned a little, squeezing her knee comfortingly.

"What'd she say to you, Jen?" he asked. He wasn't one for hitting girls—but man, he'd been annoyed when he'd seen Jenny crying, and he was pissed off at Holly Daniels for causing it.

Jenny raised her eyes to the ceiling and grunted softly.

"Nothing, she just," she started. She winced. She chewed on her lip. "Nothing," she said finally. She shrugged, and Gibbs didn't really push the subject—he figured it was something between them he wouldn't understand anyway.

He just rubbed her knee again, applying a soothing pressure, and looked at her. She looked back at him after a moment. She licked her lower lip and seemed to consider him for a minute, and then she leaned forward, and touched his jaw.

"I like the way you look at me," she said, pursing her lips.

He gave her an appreciative once over, admiring how she looked, and then he smirked a little.

"Red hair, red coat," he joked. "Green dress—you look like some damn mistletoe," he teased.

She pinched him, and shoved her hand against his chest.

She cocked an eyebrow.

"So, are you gonna kiss me?"

He reached out and pulled her close—apparently going completely insane and forgetting they were in public—and he was so distracted by her tongue—she was more aggressive than usual—that he didn't remember where they were until a yardstick came crashing down on his head.

He swore—and Jenny leapt up, glaring.

"Daddy!" she hissed.

The Colonel looked at her coolly, and gestured with his yardstick to his colleague.

"Rene," he said. "This is the Marine I was telling you about, although when we spoke of him, he didn't have a death sentence attached to his name."

Rene Benoit chuckled in his deep, suspicious tone, holding out his hand and introducing himself to Gibbs in his eerie way—and Jenny folded her arms and fumed at her father, while the Colonel let a slow, triumphant smile slide over his face, and smacked the yardstick into his own palm for good measure.

* * *

The benefit had been blurry this year—because she busied herself with Gibbs, ignoring the stuffiness of the affair, and avoiding the people she was usually politely obligated to dance with—and it had been a chaste, demure affair, since the Colonel was with them—but she was relieved to have her time with Gibbs before he left, in his apartment, without her father.

She was infinitely glad he'd decided to leave for Stillwater late on the twenty-second, so that way they didn't have to do gifts and say goodbyes with the Colonel stomping his foot on the porch. This was much better—her pasta had turned out perfectly, and there'd been no unfortunate hospital trip to interfere—and, with the help of Ziva, she'd managed to acquire a bottle of very interesting Israeli wine—which she'd brought, and had one demure glass of with dinner.

It was later, after their usual game of duck hunting—when they were snuggled up on the floor watching the night's Christmas movie on TV—that she got up and went to her bag, and got the knife out for him—she'd only wrapped it in light tissue paper, because she knew he wasn't much for flamboyance.

She sat down on him, straddling his lap, and he put his hands lightly on her knees as she presented her palm to him. She tilted her chin up.

"Merry Christmas, boyfriend," she said loftily. She smiled, her eye sparkling. "You're the first man I've ever said that to."

He grinned, and took it from her, opening it slowly—he was glad they were having a good night, because she'd been a little distracted when she'd come over—and he'd noticed she was texting Nina on her phone; apparently Holly was refusing to talk to her.

He let the knife tumble out of the paper and raised his eyebrows—he ran his hands over it, finally finding the release button and popping it open. He held in between them, admiring the blade—and then he ran his finger along it lightly.

He peered at her around it.

"My dad has a rule," she said. "_Always carry a knife_," she recited. "I'm sure the Marines issued you one, but," she pointed. "I picked this out, so it's like me protecting you."

He snorted.

"Protecting me? From what?"

She grabbed his t-shirt earnestly and shrugged, smiling softly. She didn't want to say—but she'd had a nightmare the other night that he went off to some warzone, and all she did was stand there and watch bullets fly, and wonder if he was okay, so she liked the idea of something she gave him protecting him. She leaned forward and kissed him quickly, her cheeks flushing a little.

"You like it?" she asked hesitantly.

He snapped it closed and opened again, examining the blade. He nodded slowly, and she watched his eyes move over it. He swore softly, in approval, and met her eyes, closing it again.

"Hell of a blade, Jen," he complimented.

She looked proud, and she bit her lip—and he slapped her hip gently, nudging her off of him so he could run into the bedroom and fetch her gift. She sat on the couch, rubbing her knees—and then he reappeared, and she stared at him for a moment before she leapt up, her mouth falling open.

He couldn't really be holding—

"Is that a kitten?" she shrieked. She leapt into the air and covered her mouth as he came closer. She squealed into her hands, her eyes wide, and he nodded slowly, a gruff look on his face as he held his hands out.

She stared for a moment, and then she lowered her hands and stepped forward, reaching for the little kitten—and it was _so_ little, so little and charcoal grey, with big, sweet dark eyes, and a little white on its ears and its tale—she squealed again as she cuddled it against her chest.

Gibbs watched her, and she collapsed on the couch, stroking the kitten's ears and beaming—and he crouched in front of her, watching her shower affection on it—and he grinned a little smugly.

She looked up sharply.

"You," she began. "You—it's a _kitten,"_ she spluttered, her eyes shining. She laughed. "Holly," she swallowed hard, shoving through the flicker of pain, and going on: "Holly told me to get _you_ a cat!"

"Leon told me to get you one," he retorted, arching his brow. He hesitated. "I, uh, called Nina, asked her about it. She said you wanted one, but Ike hates cats."

Jenny nodded, distracted—and then looked up, her face falling.

"Ike," she moaned, looking with fear at the little kitten. "He'll eat this little fellow—is it a boy kitty?"

Gibbs nodded.

"I figured I'll keep 'im here for you," he said gruffly, echoing what Vance had told him. He shrugged. "I could use a guard animal," he joked, deadpan.

Jenny wrinkled her nose, holding the kitten up to her face and snuggling him sweetly. She giggled and cooed over him, and the kitten mewled and pawed at her face. She set him on her lap, and the little thing leapt at Gibbs, swiping him with his paws. Gibbs frowned, and caught him, placing him back in Jenny's lap—and she gasped at his cuteness, sweeping him up and holding him up.

"He's so spooky looking—all the white, and grey," she cooed. She smirked. "He's named Banquo, then, like the ghost!"

Gibbs blinked, shocked that she'd picked a name—and then he narrowed his eyes.

"Banquo?"

"From _Macbeth,"_ Jenny said, occupied with the kitten. "Banquo, Thane of Lochaber, the father of kings," she said gallantly. "Like this little baby might be the king of my heart!" she squealed, making a mental note to assure Ike she loved him later.

Gibbs rolled his eyes.

"You're always makin' book references, Jen," he growled.

She looked up primly.

"This relationship is _built_ on _Macbeth,_ Marine," she said loftily, smiling brilliantly. "And you—you read, too!"

"_Manly_ books."

She kicked him gently, and he laughed, falling back on his heels. He sat down on the floor, watching her, and she bit her lip, glancing at him after a moment. She blushed a little—because for a split second she felt dizzy, and that surprised her—because it was a dizzying feeling that just overwhelmed her with how much she—_liked_ him.

She took a deep breath, and then he sat forward, reaching into his pocket. He held it in his hands, and then he rubbed his jaw, and held it out.

"Here," he muttered. "Made this for ya."

She clutched the kitten gently in her arm, holding the curious little Banquo there for a moment—and she delicately took what he was offering, looking at it thoughtfully—and then she realized it was a piece of wood, the size of her hand, carved into—

"You built me a boat!" she cried, her head tilting back as she laughed—and remembered that she'd teased him on their first date, and asked him to build her a boat. She eyed the wooden masterpiece more closely, and was stunned with his talent—and suddenly she just felt very cared for, and very admired—like he really did remember her wants and her thoughts, and like her as much as she liked him, and she slipped off the couch to her knees in front of him, getting closer.

He shrugged sheepishly.

"I can build you a real one," he said smugly, lifting his chin. "Someday."

She raised her brows, holding up her kitten.

"First we raise our kitten, then we move into our boat with our kitten," she said, with an almost giddy laugh.

Banquo meowed aggressively at Gibbs, and he rolled his eyes, leaning forward and dodging the cat to reach for Jenny. She laughed quietly as he pulled her close and yanked her onto the floor with him, sort of rolling so she was on top, and Banquo flopped cutely on Gibbs' chest between them.

He shoved his hands through her hair, pushing her hair back, holding it, and she smiled at him, stretching out on top of him. She shifted—adjusting—and she liked the feel of him under her like that, even if they had plenty of clothes on—she still pressed her hips into him a little, and he set his jaw.

He slipped his hands from her hair and then they were on her ass, and he pulled up her shirt a little. She laughed, and tilted her head. She picked up the kitten, her elbows pressing into Gibbs' ribs, and made sure Banquo's adorable little face was boring into Gibbs'.

"The kitten is watching," she hissed mischievously.

Gibbs smirked at her, and his hand slide back down to her ass—she was wearing a skirt, and she'd foregone tights. She allowed the kitten to pounce of Gibbs' chest, where it bounded to the little boat she'd set next to his knife, and swatted it, and Jenny met Gibbs' eyes as his hands ran along the edges of her panties under her skirt. She moved her legs a little, and then she clutched his shoulders—and he took a leap, and suddenly his hands were in her panties, against her bare skin, and she closed her eyes, her heart leaping into her throat.

It scared her, but it exhilarated her—and she liked that he was finally indicating that he did want something else, because it made her feel less crazy for stressing over it—but she also knew that she couldn't do this now, even if his fingers stroked against—_whoa_, she gasped, a high pitched gasp—even if she—might think she wanted to, and her head was spinning.

She started to say something, but instead, she lowered her head, and her forehead touched his, and she started to kiss him—slowly, tentatively—in a scared, uncertain way. He shifted, nudging her knee, and she pressed her knees into the carpet and hovered over him. He slid his hand around, between them, and resumed his touching—and then, she felt him brush against her hesitantly, and his finger pushed inside her.

She jumped and parted her lips.

"_Ouch_," she gasped, involuntarily—and he yanked is hand back immediately, pulling his head back and looking at her, startled.

She grasped his neck, shaking her head.

"I'm sorry," she muttered.

"I hurt you?" he asked—and he appeared completely stunned, as if he hadn't expected that to happen.

"No, I – it's okay," she said, trying to soothe him. She shook her head. "It was like, it," she fumbled, and then stopped, and sat back. Her body was tingling—she felt electrified, and she shifted against his groin. He grabbed her hips and made her stop—but he'd started it, and she knew she wanted it finished—but she lost her nerve. She smiled weakly. "It's okay."

He sat up and pulled her to him close, pushing her hair back. It occurred to her that his hand—his fingers—had just been inside her—and she blushed, and chewed on her lip.

"Jen," he muttered apprehensively, looking like he was about to start something.

"It was the angle," she said assertively, and a little too loudly—and suddenly she was scared he was going to ask her if she'd ever done it before, and she didn't want to answer, because she felt like a child—she felt so young. She nodded, to reaffirm her statement, and then she leaned against him, meeting his eyes. "I wanted you to…keep going."

He looked at her warily, intently, and then he nodded, and he leaned forward and kissed her—but it was a gentle, tentative kiss—and she let it stay that way, even though she could definitely feel him through his jeans, hard, and pressed against her panties as she still straddled his lap. She smiled and buried her head in his neck, embarrassed suddenly. He wrapped his arms around her, and pulled his knees up. She leaned back against them, and she pursed her lips—starting to say something—when the kitten suddenly leapt at Gibbs' neck, and tangled his little baby paws in the dog tags that always hung there.

He gave a grunt of annoyance, and Jenny let out a shriek of hoarse laughter—and she was thankful for Banquo, because she wanted to just think and feel what had just happened—and she definitely didn't want to address her state of—well, virginity—now, while he had time to go back to Stillwater and—see his old high school girls and—remember he hadn't had sex in a while.

* * *

She thought she would miss Gibbs on Christmas morning—but when she sat on the floor, crisscross applesauce, with a mug of steaming coffee—stirred with a peppermint stick—and a Santa hat on her head, she realized…she was enjoying the traditional, father-daughter Christmas.

She was curled in front of the fire, Ike snuggled up next to her, waiting for her Dad to come in with the doughnuts he'd run down the street to get—like he did every Christmas morning—and when he came in, covered in snow and growling about the weather, she smiled to see Ike bark and wag his tail happily.

The Colonel came in, with the breakfast and his own coffee, and he sat down on the floor with her and opened the box—it was a testament to how well Jenny had trained Ike that he sat patiently until he would be awarded the leftovers—and before they got to presents, they just enjoyed the cold holiday morning, and the company.

Jenny tucked her hair behind her ears, closing her eyes for a moment and smelling the coffee—and the scent of scotch and cigars that always lingered in the study—and then her eyes fell to the Christmas tree.

She smiled—and her father eyed her warily.

"You thinkin' about that damn boy?" he asked.

She met his eyes, and grinned.

"No," she said thoughtfully. She took a deep breath. "He needs to be in Stillwater," she said quietly. "Christmas is—one of the big holidays," she said, and shrugged. "You know, Dad," she said wryly, "he won't ever replace you."

The Colonel grumbled, but he looked at her warily.

"I got eyes, Jennifer," he said. "You're serious about 'im."

She shrugged a little, her expression good-natured.

"How serious can you be at seventeen?"

The Colonel took a long sip of coffee.

"You'n'him, you've proved age isn't always an indicator," he said bluntly, eyeing her intently. "You've made me proud, earning my trust back," he added, straightforward. She looked up, and smiled at him. He gave her a bit of a pained smile. "You're still seventeen," he agreed gruffly, a conflicted look on his face. "I can't let you go yet, Little J."

She took a deep breath, and somehow, she knew he was thinking about that fight with Holly—because she'd concluded now that he had definitely overheard most of the fight, and she knew he was worried about her, and probably a little angry and resentful, and she just rested her hand on Ike's head, and breathed out slowly before she answered.

"Daddy," she said firmly. "Don't worry about me."

She hoped she conveyed what she meant—she was navigating her way with Gibbs as best as she could, and she thought she was doing splendid—she felt comfortable, he didn't make her feel pressured or scared—she was dealing with what she could, and she was thinking—and taking it slow—

The Colonel raised his hand, and he saluted her.

"No can do, G.I. Jen," he warned her gruffly. "It's in the job description."

"Okay," she said, with a quiet laugh. "Then—don't worry about _him_…with me."

He seemed to catch her drift—and he felt like he could relax, knowing she didn't feel scared, or—intimidated or—harassed by him. He nodded gruffly, and then he reached out and yanked the Santa hat off her hair and ruffled it.

She giggled and reared back, nearly spilling her coffee—and then she leapt up, and grabbed an old, frayed stocking off the fireplace—stockings her grandmother had made her, the Christmas after Kimberly left—and she spilled so many cigars at her father's feet that he swore, surprised.

He looked up at her, and she saluted him, this time.

"You know, I may always be Little J to you—but I'm old enough to play Miss Claus," she teased—

-it was always him who watched her open gifts and her stocking, and this year, her excitement had been in that she'd done equally for him.

He laughed at her, examining her choice in cigars—and impressed with how well she paid attention—and then, when she pulled, out of nowhere, a bottle of scotch she claimed Gibbs had given him, he snorted—and for the first time, he wondered—without animosity—if this was the boy his daughter was going to marry.

He watched her tear into her own stocking, and he smiled wearily—she didn't know how hard it had been to raise her, without her mother, and he thought for a second, after their conversation, and after these past few months—seeing how maturely she did her best—that he'd done it half right.

"DADDY!" she shrieked suddenly, chucking a chunk of coal at him. "That's not funny!" she whined, bursting into laughter—and again, even though she felt a twinge in her heart that told her she missed Gibbs—she was glad she was sharing this Christmas alone with her father, because it was the last Christmas of her childhood—and later, there would be dinner with Noemi, like there always had been, since she was fourteen, and she was fine with reveling in that—because things were changing so quickly, and she felt like she was growing up, and even though she liked it, and she was digging her claws into the experiences—

It was nice to stop for a moment.

* * *

It was snowing in Stillwater—a white Christmas that made everything bright and immaculate and sparkling.

Gibbs spent the morning in the garishly decorated store, drinking coffee and reading the paper at a table with his father. They didn't exchange gifts, and they hadn't talked much yet—Gibbs had gotten in late, and then spent Christmas Eve chopping wood for the Fieldings—and a little time with Shannon's father, before he'd come home.

It was when he was mid sports section that Jackson Gibbs looked up and grunted.

"What is it that made you come back?" he asked in his tense, hasty tone.

Gibbs shrugged silently.

"Didn't think I'd see you again unless they were drapin' a flag on you," he joked dryly. "Leroy, c'mon—talk."

Gibbs looked up, his expression blank. He lowered his newspaper slightly, and shrugged again.

"The way I left things," he started.

"You mean gunnin' out of here the night after she died?" Jackson interrupted shortly. "Disappearin' for a week, comin' back enlisted, skippin' her funeral, and hittin' the road again after that mess of a fight?"

Gibbs swallowed the resentment in his throat, and nodded—yeah; that's what he meant.

His old man shook his head.

"You were hurtin', Leroy," he swore. "We were all hurtin'."

"No," Gibbs said quietly. "Not like me."

"Yes," Jackson snapped. "I loved that girl. Half raised her; she was always out there in that shed with you. Watched you try to put some sense in to her, but she was just a sad girl—just wild—"

"You didn't know 'er like I did, Dad," growled Gibbs.

Jackson nodded curtly.

"It was bad," Jackson said. "You felt responsible. I get that. And Joanne Fielding, she didn't help, screamin' at you at the hospital like that," he said, shaking his head.

Gibbs winced—he hated to think of it, hated to remember how he'd been standing in the hospital in the next city over, listening to people repeating that Shannon Fielding was dead on arrival, and how her mother had—grabbed him and _screamed_ that this was his fault, that Shannon never would have died if—well, Gibbs didn't know why Joanne blamed him, but he knew he blamed himself.

Jackson sighed heavily, closing his eyes against the memory as well. He cleared his throat.

"You, though," he growled. "You ran out of here, you didn't go to that girl's funeral, and next thing I know, you're sittin' at that bus stop, in that uniform, holdin' that picture of her. And you didn't say a damn thing. That's not how men act."

Gibbs nodded his head curtly—he'd come here for this—to make things right; to start to heal. Because—Jen had made him think he needed to do that, because he'd hurt her as an extension of how badly this was hurting him, and he wanted to live up to Jen's expectations—because Jen was the girl Shannon had told him to look for.

"I know," he said heavily, and took a drink of his coffee.

Jackson laughed sharply.

"You gonna visit her grave?" he asked, after a long moment.

Gibbs stared at his mug for a long time, and slowly shook his head—no. He couldn't do it; not yet. His father nodded, and said somethin' about how it would take some time to get there—and then Jackson leaned back and stretched, and looked at his son knowingly.

"This change of heart—it got anything to do with that sweet girl you brought by couple months ago?" he asked.

Gibbs lifted his head. He looked at his father warily, reluctant to say anything—and then he thought about how Jen would be hurt if he said she didn't meant anything to him—and he was just now starting to realize she was going to mean a lot to him, and even if she'd started out as a hot girl he ran into one summer day, for the first time he realized—with a daunting feeling—that she might be the girl he married, one day.

So, he looked at Jackson, and he nodded firmly.

Jackson Gibbs grinned, and reached forward, and shook his sons' shoulder—in a more familiar, friendly way than they'd interacted in a while. He raised his eyebrows with interest and snorted.

"Pretty woman like that, Leroy, you gotta brag about 'er—so, what've you got to say, son?"

Gibbs leaned back in his chair, holding his coffee mug stiffly—and then he smirked, and he realized—hell, he had a lot to say, when it came to Jen.

* * *

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_-alexandra_


	12. The Tempest

_A/N:__ ! :) Hey, Damon Werth makes an appearance here ! And so does Sam Hanna, and Kate Todd, and Callan ... I love this chapter a lot, okay. Happy "New Year's Eve." [Definitely some fireworks!]_

_Chapter Ten_

_The Tempest_

* * *

Jenny grunted in shock as her knees hit the floor—and then, she slammed her hand down twice, loudly, on the mat next to Ziva David's head, and let out a shriek of triumph. She blew loose strands of hair out of her face, perched over her instructor with her knees digging into Ziva's thighs and the Israeli pinned beneath her, and smirked smugly.

Ziva lay there for a moment, and then pushed her hands behind her head and jolted up into a bridge, spurring Jenny off of her and leaping to her feet gracefully. Jenny rolled onto her back, and Ziva reached down to pull her up, wiping sweat off her brow with her free hand.

Jenny grinned, squeezing Ziva's hand firmly, and then stepped back. She reached up and ripped a sweatband from her head, and then she tugged her hair out of its knotted, messy bun and shook it out, breathing out heavily. She leaned forward and rested her hands on her knees—and she glanced up at Ziva through her lashes.

Ziva nodded at her.

"Impressive," she said silkily.

"I've never thrown you off before," Jenny said, out of breath. "Not when you get me down like that."

Ziva shrugged amiably.

"You are an apt student," she said. "I am not surprised you have come this far. You are strong enough now that perhaps you can give that Marine a run for his money in hand-to-hand combat."

Jenny laughed, straightening up and brushing her hands together. She shook her head.

"No," she said, brushing hair out of her face absently. "Marines aren't taught martial arts; they're taught fighting."

"Krav Maga encourages defense, yes," Ziva said mildly, "but if you think a Marine would have an easy time against even a women in the IDF, you are childing yourself."

"Kidding," Jenny corrected with a laugh. She held up her hands in a mock attack stance. "Then perhaps I'll challenge Jethro to a duel."

"Do invite me to his funeral," Ziva said dryly, as she walked to the counter in the corner of the martial arts room and picked up a towel and a water bottle. She thrust the towel over her shoulder and uncapped the water, eyeing Jenny as she unwrapped her hands and made her way over to her gym bag.

The redhead tucked her hair behind her ears and found a towel of her own, slinging it around her shoulders and clutching it as she came over to get water.

"How was Israel this year?" Jenny asked—Ziva always went back to Israel during the December Holidays; she preferred her homeland to the Christmas materialism that overtook the States.

"I did not go," Ziva said mildly, cocking an eyebrow. She paused. "I agreed to spend Christmas with Damon's family."

"Oh?" Jenny asked. "Like, finally," she laughed. "That guy has seriously been trying to take you home to his Mommy for, what, two years?"

"It seems I should have acquiesced earlier," Ziva said, casually presenting her left hand.

Jenny's eyes furrowed as she looked—Ziva wore no jewelry, usually, other than her signature Star of David necklace, so she figured she'd have noticed if Ziva was wearing an engagement ring—particularly since Ziva's fist collided with her ribs _twice_ today. She looked closer and realized—she was looking at an intricate tattoo on Ziva's ring finger.

"Uh," Jenny said, looking up and arching a brow. "You're engaged?" she guessed.

"I suppose it is unconventional," Ziva remarked. "Damon presented me with several designs he had drawn, and asked if—since I dislike jewelry—I would consider a tattooed ring."

"That's an odd way to ask someone to marry you!" Jenny said—but she squealed all the same, and grabbed Ziva's hand. "I mean—did he at least get down on one knee?"

Ziva blinked, and tilted her head.

"We were horizontal," she remarked.

Jenny giggled, narrowing her eyes suggestively.

"Oo-_oooh_," she drawled, and Ziva removed her hand, rolling her eyes. "Damon is so perfect," Jenny gushed. "Like, a stoic ol' Green Beret is totally the only guy who can handle you and your Israeli sniper skills—when's the wedding?"

Ziva shrugged, taking her towel from her shoulder.

"I have told him I wish to wait until I am an American citizen," she answered vaguely. "And I wish to marry in Israel, before I am here permanently."

"But if you marry him, you'll get citizenship in a snap," Jenny pointed out.

"Yes," Ziva agreed with a nod. "But I wish my citizenship to be my own; not my marriage's."

Jenny beamed at her in admiration, and sat down on the bench, downing the rest of her water and tossing her hair down her back. She glanced up again, at the new beautiful tattoo decorating Ziva's ring finger, and then she looked down at her own. She tilted her head, and Ziva laughed huskily.

"You are not wanting a ring of your own, are you?" the brunette asked, arching a brow comically.

"Yikes," Jenny retorted, clutching her fist. She looked up, and shook out her hand, flexing her fingers. "I can't possibly get married before I vote in an election," she said loftily.

Ziva snorted, and pointed around her water bottle at the young redhead.

"Yes, but you did not so violently insist against marriage, as you used to," she noted wryly. She gave her student a knowing look and smirked, tapping her ring finger. "You think you want Gibbs to put a diamond on you, perhaps?"

Jenny shrugged and stood up.

"I have thoughts," she said dramatically, and went to her gym bag, gathering up some of her things—she had seen the clock, and it was almost time for her to meet Nina for a quick early dinner. "However, I can separate my fanciful thoughts from what's realistic," she added, zipping her things.

She laughed a little, slinging the yellow studded bag over her shoulder.

"I can't even think about marrying him until I can sort out how I feel about having sex with him," she admitted bluntly. She checked her watch. "I have to head out; meeting a friend."

Ziva inclined her head. She saluted Jenny with two fingers, and Jenny paused a moment, cell phone in hand, thinking about what she'd just said.

"I figure tradition dictates I think about that the other way around," she snorted, laughing.

Ziva shrugged.

"My only comment on the matter is that you avoid engaging in intercourse for the first time in the storage closet of a weapons carrier."

Jenny looked at her, eyes wide, and burst out laughing.

"A weapons carrier?" she asked, and Ziva gave her a wry look. Jenny shook her head—of course; of course it was a weapons carrier—this was _Ziva_.

Ziva gave her a smirk, and a wink, and Ziva returned her salute—indicating that the advice was duly noted.

* * *

It was the dead of winter, so Jenny had sweatpants and a Marine Corps t-shirt to throw on over her skimpy little Krav Maga training outfit—and it was a damn good thing, because it was snowing and freezing outside. She was glad she and Nina had chosen to go to a painfully casual diner, else she'd have been mortified to be seen in sweatpants shoved into rain boots—particularly since Nina looked flawless; the little Russian in her cold element.

She was waiting in a candy-red coloured booth when Jenny darted into the restaurant and sighed in relief at the warmth, and she waved the redhead over. Jenny threw herself into the seat with a groan, shoving her gym bag into a corner by the window. She shivered just for good measure and then shook her hair back.

"Ugh," she groaned, throwing her hand out at Nina. "I said _casual_ dinner—are you wearing a _leather_ skirt?" she demanded, glaring daggers. "What the fuck, Nina, you look like a super model—yellow heels? You look like a bumblebee—a designer bumblebee," Jenny spluttered indignantly—she glanced down at herself. "I look like a troll!"

"Right," Nina said with a laugh. "Like you could ever look like a troll—I'm going to a show later; I won't have time to change," Nina placated. "They're doing a Vaudeville-style performance of _The Tempest _at the Kennedy Center," she said, eyes brightening.

"Ooh, I wanted to see that," Jenny said, picking up her menu. "Jethro threatened to throw himself in front of a train if I made him take me."

"Really? That dramatic?"

"I was looking up tickets, and the next thing I know, he had pulled up Amtrak arrival times," she confirmed solemnly. "At least now I know he can use a computer," she said flippantly, shrugging.

Nina giggled.

"Aw, that sucks. I would have gotten you a ticket with me and Tim if I had known."

"Wait," Jenny peeped over her menu and arched a brow. "You're going with—like, Tim McGee?" Jenny slammed her menu down. "IS THIS A DATE?" she screeched.

"Hush," Nina hissed, leaning forward. "He just happened to hear me remark on it, and he mentioned he could get tickets—his mother works at the Kennedy Center," she explained. "No it's not—um."

"You're awfully dressed up," Jenny repeated loudly. She smirked, and glared pointedly at Nina, and Nina sighed, lifting her menu back up.

"It might be a bit date-ish," Nina conceded from behind her magazine.

Jenny lunged across the table and pulled down Nina's menu, grinning at her wildly.

"You and Timothy McGee are going to MIT together and have smart little babies and cure cancer and find world peace and have little family picnics at MIT and send your genius babies to MIT and—"

"Jenny," snapped Nina, laughing, "like _two_ weeks ago you were pushing me to date Tobias Fornell!"

"That's before I realized Tim McGee is perfect for you."

"And when did you—"

"Literally twenty seconds ago."

Nina rolled her eyes and put her menu down, leaning back. She cocked an eyebrow.

"I told you," she said simply, shrugging. "I do not intend to date anyone seriously until I know who I am."

Jenny sighed.

"Yes—and I hate that you were that prolific when you were tipsy," she retorted good-naturedly, trying to decide between a burger or just a really huge order of chili cheese fries. "You're still coming Monday night though, yeah?" she asked.

"Mmm-hmm," Nina murmured happily. "I'm looking forward to it," she said. "I hope Fornell drinks—I plan on challenging him to a game of chess, beating him, and posting it on the Internet," she said smugly.

Jenny laughed.

"I'm sure he will, since he's going solo," she said. "Apparently some of Jackie's friends will be there—I haven't met them, their names are like, Kate and Vivien, and then some more of the Marines Gibbs' and Vance run around with—uh, Callan, Hanna," she squinted thoughtfully, and shrugged.

Then, she looked up wickedly.

"You should invite Timmy," she said, "then you can lay one on him at midnight."

"Jenny," Nina protested with a laugh, slapping her hands down. "You sound like Holly," she giggled, shaking her head.

Jenny's smile faded and she looked uncomfortable—and Nina abruptly stopped, remembering that there was a tense situation there—but at that moment, their waitress interrupted to take their orders, so Jenny had a moment to compose herself while she ordered.

She should have known, though, that Nina wasn't going to let it go—and when the waitress hopped off, Nina leaned forward and rested her chin in her palm, expressive eyes on Jenny's.

"I suppose you two haven't made up yet," she said frankly. "Holly declined to meet us here."

"You invited her?" asked Jenny sharply. "Why the hell—"

"I was going to ambush you," Nina said bluntly, shrugging. "However, Holly immediately asked if you would be here, and you know I do not lie. So, she refused."

Jenny made an annoyed face, and then looked down, picking at her straw. There was silence, while the waitress returned with their drinks, and then Jenny shoved her straw into the glass savagely.

"Have you spoken to her since the fight?"

"Other than when we did Christmas at your place?" Jenny asked tensely.

Nina grimaced—it had been tense; she hadn't exactly known about the fight, and neither Holly nor Jenny had been willing to back out on the plans, so the gift exchange had been a frosty affair.

Jenny shook her head. She shrugged as if it didn't bother her, and then she looked at Nina sharply.

"What did she—say to you about it, anyway?"

Nina arched her brows.

"The thing is, you both furiously texted me your side of the story—and they correlated almost perfectly," she said crisply, "which indicates you both realize you were wrong."

Jenny scoffed.

"I—she acted like I was some bratty little…_nun_ or something, judging her all the time," she sniffed. "I don't—I don't fucking act like I'm better than her because I'm a virgin," she hissed, lowering her voice. "And it's so annoying—I mean you know how she is, Nina, lording her sex life over us like she's so enlightened."

Nina tilted her head, and lifted one shoulder. Jenny glared at her, and cocked a brow.

"Nina," she growled. "I mean—you know what I mean, right?"

She nodded slowly.

"Yes, I get where you're coming from," she said logically. She sighed. "Holly is…she's very open. I don't think she means to act superior to us. I think she's very worried about how we see her. She knows she was one of the first girls to have sex—"

"She's hardly the only one," Jenny interrupted curtly.

"No, but she's," Nina paused. She looked at Jenny warily. "Holly is—okay, I don't like it when she acts so flippant about sex either, Jenny," Nina said, sighing, "but at the same time, she really is comfortable with Mark, and she feels she loves him, and so she doesn't think she's doing anything wrong."

"Well, she's not," Jenny said testily. "I don't tell her she is," she protested.

Nina shrugged.

"What, Nina, you think I am judging her?"

"I think you're a little jealous that Holly's had sex," Nina said bluntly. "You and I think alike, more than Holly does. But Holly—she admires you, Jenny, 'cause you don't really make stupid mistakes, and she does, and it upsets her when she feels like you hold her to a standard she doesn't care to meet."

Jenny sat there, staring resentfully at Nina, but trying to swallow the advice. Guilt burned in her gut again—because she was remembering what Holly said, and how Holly had cried. She grit her teeth, trying to think rather than speak.

"Holly doesn't really understand us," Nina said slowly, tilting her head. "Holly's a math genius, but the stuff she's not good at, she doesn't care about. She's fairly practical, but she likes having fun, and she likes being a little wild, you know? And I think we scare her, and she loves us, but she wishes we'd be more—squealy, and girly," Nina said.

Jenny nodded slowly. She chewed on her lip, and then leaned forward.

"I mean—I barely date, you don't date at all—we don't put that emphasis on boys," Jenny said. "I just—her whole life revolves around Mark, and she's so…forward about everything, and she—"

"It intimidates you, Jenny," Nina said calmly. "I think she got that right. I don't think there's anything wrong with how absolutely careful you are about your body, okay?" Nina said. "I think it's admirable. I mean, it's not like you've had no chance—you could have hooked up all the way with DiNozzo, and I know last year at Kensi's party, you told me you let Trent feel you up a little—"

Jenny blushed, and laughed a little. She hadn't thought about that little tryst with Trent Kort in a long time.

"It's not that—I'm intimidating," Jenny said, a pained look on her face. "It's just—I don't want to be a statistic," she muttered. "I'm brainwashed, I read too much, I want it to be nice and," she sighed. "I figure she's right," she admitted grudgingly. "I put it on a pedestal."

"I think Holly's wrong to harass you like she does," Nina said firmly. "Gibbs is older than you, and I'd be terrified if I were you—but I mean, you were telling me about him fingering you the other day—"

Jenny glanced around furtively.

"—and, I thought…shouldn't you talk to Holly? She's got the experience. All I can tell you is that, logistically, it probably hurt because—"

Jenny waved her hand, glaring at Nina with a blush. Nina grinned a little, and leaned back. She shrugged, and tossed her hair back.

"Look, both of you need to get over yourselves," she said frankly, as she had many times before. "Your personalities clash, but you need Holly for some of these things."

"I relate better to you, Nina. You're so logical."

"Well, sex isn't logical," Nina said bluntly.

She folded her hands on the table and pursed her lips.

"Holly proves that," Jenny said dryly.

Nina sighed and shook her head—she hated that they were fighting, but she knew they'd work it through eventually. She glanced up, and saw their food approaching—and she smiled faintly, deciding to chance the subject.

'So—what are you wearing on New Year's?" she asked. "Sparkly and sexy? Or warm and comfy?"

Jenny brightened, thankful for the chance of conversation—and even though she dove heartily into a critical analysis of the content of her closet, she was still thinking about Holly in the back of her mind.

* * *

Jenny lay on her back in her window seat, with her legs up high in the air, resting against a wall, holding a book over her head. She read casually, occasionally making small talk with Gibbs—he was sitting in the floor by her bed, playing tug-of-war with Ike.

"Stillwater was okay?" she asked.

He grunted in a vague sort of way, and threw the dog's toy gently. Ike bounded after it, took it in his mouth, and then sat next to Jenny, wagging his tale at her patiently. She reached over and rubbed his ears, balancing her book in one hand.

"Dad sent some caramel back with me, for you," Gibbs said gruffly. He narrowed his eyes darkly, watching her read. "Banquo got into 'em."

Jenny laughed.

"What a little rascal," she cooed—Vance had kept the cat at his apartment for the few days Gibbs was gone, and she hadn't seen him again yet. She flipped a page mildly, letting the silence hang for a moment. "You fix the things you wanted to fix?"

Gibbs shrugged—he had started to, but there was a lot of healing to be done. And Stillwater—Stillwater was unbearable now, if he was there for too long. He tilted his head, remaining silent, and settled in to intently watch her read—it was a book she'd taken from his apartment, on Stonewall Jackson.

"Dad asked me what your middle name is," Gibbs said gruffly. "Said it was bullshit for me not to know."

"Morgan," Jenny said promptly. She flipped another page in the book. "Kimberly's maiden name."

She stopped petting Ike and tilted her head, looking at the book intently.

"I think Banquo needs a middle name," she mused aloud.

Gibbs glared at her, opening his mouth to protest, when suddenly a hand collided with the back of his head. He jumped, turning around, and there stood the Colonel in full uniform, glowering down at him with a cigar in his hand.

"I don't think I like you sittin' there just gazing at her," he growled. Without giving Gibbs a chance to respond, or Jenny time to slam her book closed and roll her eyes, he snapped his fingers. "I need to talk to you."

Gibbs started to stand, but the Colonel shook his head.

"No; you: sit," he ordered, and Gibbs sat down heavily on the bed. The colonel pointed at Jenny. "Her," he said sharply. "Jennifer; study."

He stormed back out, and Jenny rolled her eyes as she handed Gibbs her book to keep her place and followed her father.

"The door was open," she groused, folding her arms as she stopped in the doorway of the study. "He was watching me read, not undressing me with his eyes."

"What's the difference?" demanded the Colonel sharply, and Jenny gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes again, and smirked, before arching her brows and lifting her chin.

"Sir?" she asked, awaiting whatever was coming.

Jasper stormed around his desk and poured a tumbler of scotch—Jenny noticed it was from the bottle Gibbs had procured for him, and smiled a little. Her father looked immensely annoyed as he took a drink of the whiskey, and then he slammed the glass down and eyed her narrowly.

"I have to go to Cuba," he announced abruptly.

Jenny unfolded her arms and stared at him.

"We're _moving_?" she barked, stunned. He had promised her he was stationery until she left high school—he had _sworn_ to her—

The Colonel blanched.

"What? No," he growled, shaking his head rapidly. "No—I have to go; I have orders to oversee a prisoner transfer and an interrogation," he corrected. "It's a short trip—"

"Wait, who?" Jenny interrupted. "Who did we get? Al-Zawahiri?" she asked, and when her father just glared at her, she leaned forward. "Bin Laden?!"

"Jennifer; it's classified," was his only answer. He held his cigar between his fingers. "It's a short trip," he resumed his original train of thought. "Forty hours. I am leaving tomorrow morning at six a.m."

Jenny shrugged.

"Okay," she said slowly. "You've gone on short trips before," she said, pushing her hair back. "Is there extenuating danger to this one? You seem—freaked," she pointed out, smirking a little. "I can come use my mad Krav Maga skills to protect you from the Al-Qaeda baddies, Dad—" she started to joke, and then she stopped. "Wait, tomorrow?"

He grimaced as the penny dropped.

She blinked.

"Oh."

She realized—

"You won't be back until January second," she gathered.

He grimaced again. She stared at him apprehensively—if he was about to renege on his promise to let her spend New Year's with Gibbs—

The Colonel took a long sip of scotch.

"You are aware that this means I won't be here to enforce your curfew," he said sharply.

She swallowed hard.

"Dad," she began. "Don't," she stopped. She didn't know what she was going to say—she didn't want to throw a fit, but she didn't want her plans ruined, and she could sense he was just about to—

"I'm not," he said firmly, surprising her. He set his glass down and then sat down heavily in his chair, sitting straight and glaring at her solemnly. "As it stands now, I have no reason not to trust you."

She caught her breath, refusing to let her face show her excitement.

"Jennifer," he began, frustrated. "I considered asking Noemi to stay with you, and refusing to allow you to go out," he admitted in a grumble. "It occurred to me you'd likely ignore me."

Jenny started to say something, but Jasper held up his hand.

"You can still spend New Year's Eve at Quantico," he said gruffly, his eyes on her sharply. "The rules do not change. You are to be home at one o'clock. You are not to drink. You are, under no circumstances, to spend the night at Gibbs' apartment nor," the Colonel added sharply, and warily, "is he allowed to spend the night here in my absence."

Jenny began to nod, but her father was still talking.

"This is the ultimate test, Jennifer," he said frankly. "You may think you can flout the rules; but I will find out if you do," he asserted.

"Daddy," she said. "I have no problem adhering to those rules, I swear," she said seriously. She lifted her shoulders. "Nina was going to stay the night here after, anyway."

The Colonel nodded—he was only then remembering that Nina Alexander was part of the plan, and that made him more comfortable; he doubted Jenny would get into any trouble with Nina around. He still hated the idea—he had let Jenny stay home alone during his small trips since she was sixteen, but she'd never had a boyfriend during them before.

He stood up.

"You understand me clearly, Jennifer?" he reiterated. "Curfew is to be followed?"

She nodded.

"Yes, sir," she affirmed seriously. "Dad—this is so important to me, I—thank you."

He grunted, grumbling to himself, and then sat back down and reached for his lighter. She stood up tensely, about to dart off back to her room—when her father called her back, killing the flame on his lighter and glaring at her.

"What the hell is a _Banquo?"_ he asked suspiciously.

She looked confused for a moment, and then she let out a giggle.

"He's my kitten," she said primly. "Jethro got him for me—for Christmas," she said. "He lives with Jethro."

Her father glared at her violently for a moment, and then he snorted derisively.

"How did it go from me banning you from that apartment to you keeping a kitten there?" he demanded loudly, almost to himself. He scoffed. "Corporal Kiss Ass got you a kitten," he growled, looking up at her sharply. "You're tellin' me the two of you got a damn kitten _together_?"

Jenny gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look.

"Well, Daddy, at least it's not a _baby_."

The Colonel yanked his cigar from his mouth and jammed it in the air towards Jenny.

"Under no circumstances are you to name my grandchildren after Shakespeare characters, Jennifer," he roared.

She stomped her foot and clenched her fist in imitation of a toddler's fit.

"It's going to _break_ Jethro's _heart_ when I tell him Macduff and Macbeth are off the table!" she shrieked playfully.

"There are also no circumstances under which you should discuss children's names with that idiot upstairs!"

Jenny laughed good-naturedly and rolled her eyes, waving him off as she turned on her heel and started out of the room—and the Colonel watched her go with a critical, wary eye, caught somewhere between his usual amusement at his daughter's idea of humor, and at his uncertainty that Jenny getting a pet with Gibbs was a good thing—

He might be old fashioned, but it seemed like a big deal—and as mature and well balanced as she had been since October, his old worry about Gibbs' age started to come back.

The Colonel heard a loud bark from upstairs, and then Jenny's laughter, and he rubbed his jaw sharply, leaning back in his chair heavily.

He wondered if it had occurred to Jenny that Gibbs' upcoming training in sniper training school heightened his chances of being deployed immediately—because if there was one thing the Colonel knew, it was that the Pentagon was receiving intelligence briefs that called for more snipers in the Middle East by the day.

* * *

Nina handed Jenny the new, burgundy-red lipstick she'd purchased this morning on their impromptu shopping trip, and watched as her friend expertly swiped it on. They were dressed to the nines and ready to go—all that was left was Jenny's lipstick, and Nina swore under her breath as she saw the finishing touch.

"You look like raw sex," Nina said, cocking an eyebrow.

Jenny stood up and turned, sweeping her coat off of her bed and slipping into it. She shoved the new lipstick into her pocket and checked herself in the mirror one last time—she'd chosen a little black dress for the evening, and accented it with dark red—nails, lips, and sky-high heels, dark, smoky eye-make-up, and a touch of the perfume Gibbs had bought her on Black Friday.

The dress she'd had chosen was sleeveless and had a cutout in the front that showed some cleavage—and she'd chosen matching red underwear to go with it. Nina was in dark blue and light pink—and her beloved bright yellow coat, and Jenny smiled in the mirror—and held up her phone.

"Jenny, not a mirror picture."

"We look hot. This is the one time I am tweeting the fuck out of a mirror pic," Jenny retorted, and put her arm around Nina—and they both smiled.

Tucking her phone away, Jenny grabbed her keys and beckoned—they could leave for Quantico now. She made sure she fed Ike before they left, and locked up, and she and Nina hurried to the car, bracing against the cold until they were shut inside the Mustang.

"Are you planning on—um," Nina faltered, and then laughed as Jenny turned on the car. "I—are you going to sleep with Gibbs?"

"Oh, no," Jenny said, abashed. She flushed. "Nina, what? No. I'm not going to _plan_ that, like," she said, flustered. She paused and looked at Nina, and then grinned. " I just—usually I have to worry about what my father will see me wearing, and tonight I don't, so I'm showing off," she admitted.

"You look so good," Nina sighed, and Jenny flushed again—she curled her fingers in a catlike motion and purred at Nina, and Nina smacked her manicured hand away—the nails were dark red with snowy white tips, and Nina loved that choice.

Jenny backed out of the driveway and started the trek to Quantico. She was particularly alert on the roads this evening—it was early, but there was always a chance that some idiot was already drinking and driving.

"Are we going to be okay getting home?" Nina asked. "You know—curfew, and all?"

"Jethro is going to drive us," Jenny said, shrugging. "I forgot about the state regulations and me driving since I'm seventeen, so he just offered."

"What about the car?"

"He'll pick me up tomorrow and take me to get it," she said easily. She smiled—it might seem like a bit of a hassle, but she appreciated the gesture. Nina relaxed and pulled her visor down, checking her hair again.

"I think I might have some champagne at midnight," Nina decided.

"I'm going to," Jenny said with a shrug. "A sip of Jethro's—I mean, I know the almighty Colonel has decreed that there's no drinking, but I've had wine and beer at his apartment since then. He always claims he's going to know but, psh, whatever—I only have like a glass," she added.

Nina tilted her head.

"I'm not stopping you," she said frankly. She smiled. "I just want to swindle Fornell, remember?" she drawled. "If he thinks I'm shnockered, he'll keep drinking!"

Jenny laughed, shaking her head. She licked her lips in anticipation—this, she knew, was going to be a hell of a night.

* * *

It was a strange experience—but she reveled in it. Jackie and Leon's apartment was loud and full of music and conversation—there weren't too many people there, but it was enough for the interactions to be varied and cozy. Gibbs—he wasn't a talker, but he was content to sit on the couch while Jenny perched on his knee and chatted conversationally with those around her.

His eyes were glued to her, and she was basking in it—his one hand hadn't left the small of her back since she'd walked in and he'd greeted her with a kiss and a growled approving comment about her outfit—and his other hand was drawing circles on her thigh.

Jenny had seen Jackie shoot an annoyed look at it once or twice, but she ignored it—the older set was drinking, and Jenny had noticed Nina drinking as well, but she had chosen to stick to sparkling grape juice out of respect for her father—besides, she didn't need anything else going to her head at the moment.

She was engaged in a conversation with Jackie and Leon, and Jackie's friend Kate. Gibbs' buddy Callan chimed in occasionally, but he was on the floor absorbed in Fornell's duck hunting game.

"I told the bastard, fuck off," Kate was saying, twirling her fingers in a crucifix necklace at her throat. "There's being a bad girl Catholic, and then there's fucking a seminary student in a Notre Dame confessional, and that's a circle of hell I'm not going to."

Jenny put her hand to her mouth and laughed—she hadn't known what to think of Kate at first, but it turned out she had a wild side that matched Holly's, and it made Jenny feel comfortable—even if it provoked a twinge of pain when she remembered she still wasn't very good with Holly.

Vance laughed and slid his arm around his wife, yanking her close.

"At least you're getting' action, Kate," he pouted, glaring at Jackie. "My little woman's punishin' me—"

"I'm pissed at Leon 'cause he won't go ice skating with me," Jackie stated matter-of-factly, playfully shoving him away.

"I'll go ice skating with you," Jenny offered, tilting her head.

Gibbs paused slightly in stroking her thigh, and Jackie looked at her for a moment like she'd grown a second head—and then her expression changed. Jenny resisted the urge to cringe—she had taken the bold step because Jackie was so close to Gibbs, and she knew Jackie had some issues with her, so this could be awkward—

"I'll be damned," Jackie said, smiling. "I never thought to ask you," she admitted. "I'm no amateur, though," she added.

Jenny set her shoulders back.

"Nina's a Russian ballerina," she said smugly. "She's taught me a thing or two on the ice."

Jackie nodded, looking at Jenny thoughtfully.

"Yeah—I'll take you up on that," she said. "You gotta tell me when you get back to school, and I'll snatch up one of Gibbs' days one weekend."

"Hey," growled Gibbs.

"Shush," Jenny said, swatting at his lips. He nipped at her fingers, and Vance rolled his eyes, shooting Gibbs a dubious look.

"The women rule the roost," he groused.

Gibbs just smirked at him—and Callan demanded that Kate join him at the game, swearing loudly as he fired off shots at the fake ducks. Vance turned to go into the kitchen and appeared a second later, handing Jackie a corkscrew.

"Baby, that six pack's gone," he muttered.

Jackie looked annoyed.

"It's Sam, I swear to god, he drinks like a fish—"

"I got a couple at home," Gibbs said, standing up. He smoothed his hand suggestively over Jenny's hip as he coaxed her to move off his knee. "I'll run and get 'em."

He stretched a little, and Jenny cleared her throat.

"I'll go with you," she said. She laughed lightly. "Banquo needs to be checked on," she added.

Vance rolled his eyes, and Jenny went to grab her coat—she doubted they'd walk down the blocks to Gibbs' apartment complex; it was too cold. She was slipping on her coat, waiting for Gibbs, when she saw Jackie give him a warning look and swat his arm.

She stepped a little closer.

"Don't fuck up her New Year's Eve," Jackie was saying to Gibbs—and he brushed her off, reaching for Jenny and sliding his hand down her back again, possessively, like he'd missed precious time touching her.

They slipped out without much adieu—they wouldn't be gone long, and she hurried to his truck, sliding over to his side to snuggle up to him while it warmed up. She checked her watch as he revved the engine.

"Damn," she said, surprised. "It's eleven, already?"

"Ball drops in an hour," he grunted.

She giggled, and then slapped her hand over her mouth. He gave her a look, and she wrinkled her nose, slinging her arm across his lap as he drive. She burrowed into him, her legs pressed against his. He kept his hands on the wheel—she noticed his knuckles were white—and when he got to his complex and made to turn off the car, she shook her head.

"I'll go get the beer, and check on Banquo," she said. "Keep the car runnin', so it gets warm."

He gave her a look of mixed emotion, and she caught her breath—because she realized he'd wanted some alone time with her up in the apartment—but she stuck to her guns; she didn't want to make any stupid decisions. She bolted from the car to his apartment, her key in hand—but, the door was open, as usual.

Banquo was curled on a pillow on Gibbs' unmade bed, fast asleep, and Jenny crawled amongst the sheets and kissed him, stroking him for a moment, and enjoying the idea of being in Gibbs' bed, before she dragged herself up, her heart pounding—for some reason—and grabbed the beer from his refrigerator.

He was staring at the roof of the car when she got back and slid the six packs into the bed of the truck. She hopped back in the cab and breathed a sigh of relief—it was so warm—and then she turned towards him, eyeing him for a moment. When he looked over at her and started to lean forward, she reached out and caught his hand.

She cocked an eyebrow at him wryly.

"You want to make-out, huh?" she guessed.

He snorted at her, but he shifted and pulled her close to him. She straightened, and gathered the skirt of her dress in her hands, maneuvering so she straddled his lap—her usual position. She bit her lip and smiled, resting her palms on his jaw.

"Rules, rules, rules," she sighed, clicking her tongue. "You date an army colonel's daughter, you can't even get any ass on New Year's," she teased.

He shrugged a little, and grinned at her. She pressed closer against him, and bent to kiss him—the car was so warm, she was suddenly reminded of the night she'd gotten the wild idea to sneak him up to her room—and she kissed him hard, because that was the night she'd told him to kiss her like she _wasn't_ an Army Colonel's prized offspring.

His hands went straight to her thighs this time, and he slid them under her dress quickly—it wasn't particularly surprising; his hands wandered more and more boldly under her clothes lately—his lips had found their way as far as her stomach once, before she'd subtly stopped it—and she nodded a little into the kiss, her tongue sweeping across his lips.

She broke the kiss, breathing hard, and his hands wandered higher, brushing against her panties. He closed his eyes a moment, and then he looked at her a little wickedly.

"What colour are these?" he asked quietly.

"Red," she answered, her heart flying into her throat. "They match the—the—" her breath hitched sharply as his hands rubbed against the material. "-the bra."

He smirked, and leaned forward, pressing his lips to her neck. She looked up, her eyes wide, and he pressed his hand harder against her. She gasped—and the only thing she could think to do, once she unfroze, was shift her hips toward shim, and dig her nails into his shoulder. He eased off when she gripped him, and his teeth grazed her throat—so she dipped he head, and she found his lips again—and she had the flickering thought that they were wasting fuel, and Nina was going to wonder where she'd got to—

She moved her hips against him insistently, and he breathed out hard, almost frustrated, against her lips. His fingers slipped under her panties, and she gasped again when he hit bare skin, her lashes fluttering. His movements were careful, and she pressed her knees into the seat under them, sitting up a little.

"Jethro," she mumbled—and she flushed, because it came out like a little moan. "It's okay," she stammered, trying to tell him. She was sure it wouldn't—catch her off guard this time, and she wanted it.

He moved one hand up her back and tangled it in her hair, his lips moving against hers. He pulled back slightly and searched her eyes for a moment, lifting an eyebrow warily. She felt his hand flex, and this time—when he slipped his fingers inside her, she shivered, and it didn't hurt at all.

Her fingers slipped against his throat. She pressed her lips to his, gasping a little, and then to her surprise—or, relief, she discovered—he thrust another finger in her, and she moaned, her brain fuzzy suddenly. She was thinking of hot showers and things she'd read in books, and his hand in her hair was tugging a little, and his mouth was devouring her and she felt so—so _tight_—and—

She dug her nails into his shoulders suddenly and cried out—a little more loudly than she'd planned to—and she thrust her hips against his hand, gasping his name in a little bit of shock.

He leaned back and looked at her, and she opened her eyes—she hadn't realized they were closed—and found him watching her in a smug way, his blue eyes a dark, simmering colour. She parted her lips, still for a moment, and then she adjusted—and she breathed out hard when she rose off of his fingers, because that was a slightly uncomfortable feeling.

She collapsed next to him, leaning against his shoulder, her arm slung over his waist again, and she swallowed hard several times. Her knees felt weak, even though she was sitting, and her vision was blurry—but damn, she felt—

She sat forward a little and looked at him—shyly, but aggressively, too, somehow.

It took her a moment to find her voice.

"I," she started. "I-?"

"Ever had one before?" he asked bluntly.

She blushed furiously.

"No," she said automatically. And then tilted her head. "Ah, well—yes," she amended. "Not with a man," she added bluntly.

He stared at her a moment, and then sat up.

"Really?" he asked smugly, looking at her intently. "Girls…?"

Jenny blushed again, running her hand through her slightly sweaty hair. She laughed nervously.

"I," she started again—she was beginning to sound like a broken record. "In the shower," she fumbled, and then pressed her lips together.

He sat watching her, his eyes running over her appreciatively, and lustfully, and longingly, and proudly all at once, and she surged forward and kissed him, her body still reeling from what he'd done—and while she was kissing him, it struck her that she wanted to—she really _wanted_ to return the favor—and she licked her lips, steeling herself.

He was still thinking about how much he loved it when she licked her lips while she was kissing him when he felt her hands on his zipper, roaming around in his jeans—and then before he could register what had exactly happened, she'd pressed a kiss to his chest, through his t-shirt, and her hand was wrapped around him—firm and warm—and he was looking down at a mass of red hair.

He started to say something, but then her lips touched his cock, and his head fell back against the seat heavily.

She had hesitated for the briefest second—but even if she was afraid she was going to do it wrong, she drew on what she'd read, and she—started going down on him, tentatively at first. But she realized—it wasn't at all as unnatural and unsavory as she'd imagined; it was _skin_, and she could easily avoid choking—that had always been her worry—

She tried moving her tongue like she might when she kissed him, and his hands fisted into her hair. He pulled instead of pushed, and she was relieved; she was afraid he might force her head down, and she wasn't prepared to deal—but he didn't; he just kept pulling, and then he swore.

"Jen," he growled huskily, in a different voice than she'd ever heard.

She rested her hand on his thigh and moved it back and forth, massaging him. She leaned back a moment, breathing, and her ran his hand through her hair and over her back, so comfortingly that her heart leapt again, and she leaned up and kissed his lips innocently, shyly, and it was endearing to him, and then she ducked back down—and she closed her lips over him again, stumbling through it on intuition and the thousand things running around in her mind.

His thighs tensed under her hand.

"Jesus," he mumbled. "Jen," he growled again. "Jen," he said again, warningly.

She realized he was—literally warning her, but she hadn't gotten that far in her thought process, so she just kept her mouth on him, and she flinched a little when he came. She closed her eyes, and moved her tongue over him again—it wasn't as dreadful as she'd heard it would be, though she made sure she was still looking downwards when she swallowed.

She pressed her fingers to her lips and looked up, meeting his eyes a little brazenly, a little apprehensively.

His hands were still so tightly wound in her hair, and his eyes were half-closed—but when he did blink and look at her, it was with such admiration that she felt a little giddy, and she smiled, biting her lip.

He pulled her towards him, wrapping his arms around her tightly, and she slung her hand over his lap again, breathing hard. His combed his fingers through her hair. She knew they had to get back—it was so hot in the car now, and she wasn't sure how she felt—she felt like she was supposed to feel a specific way, but she felt normal—it all felt normal.

She pressed her nose against his heart.

She was glad there was Nina to worry about—otherwise, she might throw caution to the winds, and stay the night with him, and hope that her father never found out.

* * *

Jenny helped Jackie with champagne bottles in the kitchen—her heart was still slamming against her chest; they hadn't walked back in until quarter of midnight, and Jenny hadn't missed the look Fornell had shot at Gibbs.

Nina stood with glasses, and raised her eyebrows.

"Your hair's a mess," she noted.

Jenny ran her hand through it silently.

Nina laughed.

"I don't blame you," she said, figuring Jenny had wanted a few minutes to spend alone with Gibbs. "Hey, where's your lipstick?"

Jenny resisted the sudden urge to respond, and pressed her lips together. She excused herself to reapply—and she looked at herself in the mirror—her eyes were so bright, her hair so tangled, and her lips did look chapped and bare.

_It's on Jethro's cock_ she thought to herself, and then laughed, biting her lip as she fumbled to get the lipstick.

She swept it on easily—she felt dizzy, still, and hot, and she was—wet, she realized. He may have made her come, but she very acutely and suddenly realized she wanted more, and it made her feel a little faint.

She didn't know—if she was ready.

She smacked her lips together and hurried out, and people were gathered around the TV, chanting. She found Gibbs in midst of them, sitting back in his place on the couch, beer in hand, and she took a glass of champagne from someone who passed them out, and sat down on Gibbs' lap with a nervous resolve.

He slipped his arm around her waist and smirked at her, his eyes searching hers.

She parted her lips—and then Kate let out a scream, and Vance shouted _oorah_—the ball had dropped, two thousand seven was over, and she couldn't stop looking at Gibbs.

He knocked his beer bottle against her glass, and she was startled into sipping her drink, and then she leaned down and kissed him—for all she was worth. She'd never had anyone to kiss at midnight before –and this kiss felt impossibly more intimate than the others.

She kissed him for a long time, and it felt like a cliché.

* * *

Nina was too astute not to notice something glittering in Jenny's eye, and when they were curled up with hot chocolate in the bonus room, home safe from the party, with smudged make-up and hair knotted up in buns, she watched her friend as she sat on the floor with Ike sprawled in her lap.

They were too restless to go to bed, and they had chosen to watch a _Star Wars_ movie—and it wasn't until the middle of movie that Jenny realized the irony, and let out a strangled, amused laugh.

"Oh look, it's the space penis," Nina said dramatically.

Jenny turned and looked at her, eyes unreadable, and Nina cocked a brow.

"Jenny," she said. "Did _you_ see a space worm tonight?"

Jenny laughed, losing her breath. She stared at Nina, and then frowned good-naturedly—she thanked God for Nina, because Nina always knew, and Nina was always so wonderful.

"We didn't have sex," she said quickly.

"I didn't think so," Nina said softly. "You weren't gone _that_ long."

Jenny chewed on her lip. She slouched, and leaned her head back, her eyes on Nina—as Luke Skywalker continued his Jedi training on screen.

"I let him—finger me," she said quietly. "I…went down on him."

Nina tilted her head. She smiled a little into her mug.

"You know who you need," she sing-songed matter-of-factly.

Jenny closed her eyes.

"Holly," she admitted dully.

Nina nodded firmly, and Jenny lifted her head, and glued her eyes to the movie—she felt apprehensive, and anxious, and happy, and satisfied and—she picked up her phone, thinking of texting Holly, but instead she found a picture that Gibbs had managed to send—of the cat, refusing to move off his chest while he tried to sleep.

She laughed, and bit her lip.

She didn't know if she was ready, but she didn't know if she wanted to slow down—either.

* * *

Nadia Daniels, in tiny yoga outfit and bare feet, opened the door and beamed at Jenny amiably.

"Darling," she said. "It's been quite a few days," she remarked, and ushered Jenny in. "Holly is in her room—Mark's just left," Nadia said. "I was just about to start dinner—will you join us?"

Jenny opened her mouth—she didn't know how this was going to go, and she wasn't sure—she did have plans later but—well, she threw caution to the winds.

"Yes, Nadia, if you don't mind," she said earnestly. "My father won't be back until late this evening."

"It's settled," Nadia said firmly. "You eat seafood?"

"Yes," Jenny agreed quickly, as she hurried distractedly up the familiar path to Holly's room.

She paused a moment outside of the door—she heard a television on inside—and then she pushed the door open. She looked around her friends' room, smiling affectionately at all the red and gold, and then stepped in and shut the door.

Holly looked up from the floor, where she was painting her nails and reading a Cosmopolitan.

She stared at Jenny for a moment, and then picked up her remote and delicately muted the TV.

"My apologies, I'm watching something crass," she said stiffly, gesturing at the MTV show that had been blaring.

Jenny smiled tightly, resisting the urge to be baited, and she sat down in front of Holly on the floor and crossed her legs. She straightened her back, and took a few deep breaths. She grit her teeth together while she thought of how to start, and then she closed her eyes briefly.

"I get it, Holly," she said, very calmly. "I got some perspective," she went on. "I get it—you weren't trying to make me or Nina feel inferior."

Holly looked at her, blinking sharply, and waiting.

"I—judge you," she admitted. "I do get intimidated."

Holly capped her nail polish and stared at Jenny thoughtfully. She was silent for a long time, and then she sighed heavily.

"I shouldn't harass you," she retorted in a low voice. "I do—push you guys sometimes because I feel insecure about how many stupid choices I've made."

"You love Mark—"

"Yeah," Holly said. "I do. And I don't regret having sex with him," she said firmly. "But there's something to be said for thinking it through, and I wish I had, sometimes."

Jenny relaxed, her shoulders slumping. She arched a brow at Holly.

"Nina talk to you?"

"She set me straight," Holly said, with a little laugh. "You?"

Jenny nodded emphatically, and she sat there for a moment, and then watched Holly give a frustrated sight and slam the magazine shut.

"I missed Mark?" Jenny asked.

The air seemed a little awkward between them, even if they had cleared it a little.

"He's pissed at me," Holly said dully.

"Oh?"

Holly tapped the Cosmo.

"Apparently not all men like number forty-seven."

"You were doing it with your parents home?" Jenny asked, shocked.

Holly gave her a warning look, and Jenny winced and reigned in her tendency to react like that. She chewed her lips a moment, and then slouched. Holly eyed her tentatively, and sighed, leaning back against her great canopy bed.

"You have a good New Year's with Jedediah?" she asked, teasing quietly.

Jenny bit her lip. She took a deep breath, and peeked at Holly through her lashes.

"I gave him a blow job," she said boldly.

Holly's mouth fell open, and Jenny gave her a delighted look—she'd never truly seen Holly's jaw _drop_ before. She lifted her hand and pointed.

"Yes, I looked something like that," she giggled, and then Holly snapped out of it, and leaned forward with a shriek, crumpling her magazine. She surged forward and grabbed Jenny's shoulders, shaking them.

"You vixen!" she squealed proudly. "Tell me you timed it right, tell me you started in two thousand and seven and he came in two thousand and eight!" she joked crudely.

Jenny swatted her away nervously, taking a deep breath—she'd promised herself she was going to give Holly the heart to heart she wanted, and she tried not to react negatively to Holly's comment.

"No, I," she stopped. "We slipped away from the party, it was all before midnight," she explained breathlessly. She chewed on her lip, and then pulled at the ends of her hair nervously, flexing her fingers. "I didn't plan on it, I just—let it happen, because I felt like doing it."

Holly nodded.

"That's a good way to go about it," she said earnestly. "Mark asked me, and I kind of wanted to, but I was caught off guard—but you, you, tell me more," she said quickly, waving her hands.

"He," Jenny paused and blushed. "He was kissing me, and then he, ah, he fingered me, and after that, I just—_wanted_ to."

"Did you…come…?"

Jenny nodded, her cheeks flushing again. Holly sighed dramatically and put her hand over her heart, throwing herself back. Jenny pushed her hands through her hair and pressed her lips together, her heart pounding again. She grinned, and Holly grinned back, and crinkled her nose.

"It's—awkward, you know," she related. "You think it's going to be all hazardous, and it's weird getting the hang of moving, but deep throating is actually kind of easy—"

"Yeah, I figured that out," Jenny said hoarsely, keeping her voice low. "I thought—well, I read how to do it and I tried and that's sort of when he—"

"Oh, that's weird too, the first time! Trying to move out of the way, and then, or, spitting without being rude—"

Jenny raised her eyes to the ceiling silently, compressing her lips, and Holly bolted upright. Jenny tucked her hair behind her ears.

"Jenny?" Holly demanded. "Did you—_swallow_?"

Jenny fluttered her lashes.

"It wasn't bad," she murmured. "He—he warned me but," she shrugged.

Holly glared.

"Dammit, you've shown me up—well, Mark always wants me to, but I refuse—did Gibbs shove your head down? Because I was worried, but Mark pulled my hair, not pushed."

"Yeah, Jethro did that too!" Jenny said, and suddenly she was so relieved she had someone to discuss this with, and she relaxed—her shoulder slumped; she felt a little more at ease with what had happened. "It felt—good."

Holly nodded, chewing her lip.

Jenny flushed.

"I liked how he said my name."

"Like you're a queen," Holly said smugly. "It's a powerful feeling, yeah?"

Jenny just nodded, and she looked up, tossing her hair back and smiling anxiously at Holly. Holly laughed and leaned back, wrapping her arms around her legs and inclining her head at Jenny in a noble, lofty way.

"You wait—wait until he gets inside you, he'll go crazy," she said airily, and Jenny's smile was about to fade—before she realized Holly was teasing her, pretending to be superior, like Jenny had accused her.

Jenny rolled her eyes.

Holly was silent a moment, smiling, and then she caught Jenny's eye, and she leaned forward earnestly.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

Jenny wasn't ready for the question—it gave her that wild, spinning feeling that touching Gibbs gave her—and she took a deep, shaky breath.

"I wanted to fuck him after that, Hol," she admitted. "It's," she tried to find the word, and then she just relented, shaking her head in wonder. "It's scary."

Holly nodded seriously.

"Jenny," she said seriously. "I _know_," she agreed emphatically.

Jenny smirked at her, and she felt relieved again—Gibbs had picked her up to get her car earlier today, and things had been so normal; she hadn't felt different, she hadn't felt awkward, and he had treated her the same—and still, somewhere in the corners of her mind, she felt like running away from him and running right at him at once—and it was nice to know Holly sort of understood that.

Holly swatted her knee in a friendly way, giggling, and Jenny tilted her head back and laughed, her heart calming down a little. It wasn't a big deal, and it was a big deal –and it was scary, and the moment she accepted that, the moment she wasn't so scared anymore.

* * *

_feedback appreciated ! :)_

_-alexandra_

_*Note: I've seen a vaudevill production of 'The Tempest'. I'm sure it was delightful, but I fell asleep the moment the curtains opened. Oops._


	13. The Turnip Truck

_A/N:__ I really love, love, love the conversation between Jenny & the Colonel here. I also love the title of the chapter ... because it's part of one of my favorite Southern expressions ! _

_Chapter Eleven_

_The Turnip Truck_

* * *

Upon returning home from work, Jenny had thrown herself into bed—customers at the café had been particularly obnoxious today, probably pissed off that they had to order non-fat, skim, sugar-free crap in order to satisfy their dumb New Year's resolutions—and she had yet to convince herself to change out of her uniform.

Gibbs was coming over, so she didn't want to get into totally grungy sweatpants or something—even though he didn't care, and he'd definitely seen her like that before, she still enjoyed looking pretty—but she also didn't want to waste a good outfit on a lazy afternoon, so she was in a sort of limbo. Her work uniform—the black skirt, white top, socks, red lipstick—her addition, not the café's—was cute in an endearing way, so she figured she'd just stay in it for a while.

Gibbs had mentioned that he liked the waitress look before. She thought he might have been joking, but then again, she never knew with him—and jokes.

She continued to sprawl aimlessly on her bed, checking her watch occasionally and waiting for Gibbs to arrive—Noemi was in the kitchen, cooking something that smelled absolutely delicious, and Jenny considered going down there to help out. Ike trotted in at that moment, though, and bounded excitedly up to her, nearly smacking her in the nose with his tattered tug-of-war toy.

She smiled at him and rolled over, lounging lazily on the bed and agreeing to play with him. She chewed on her bottom lip, worrying the chapped skin, scraping off her red lipstick, vaguely wondering what it was going to be like casually hanging out with Gibbs—after all, the last time she'd really hung out with him was New Year's Eve, because she'd had to work double shifts the two days after, and then she'd gone with Nina and her brother Misha to Nina's Julliard ballet audition in New York. In those busy days, she'd only talked to Gibbs on the phone, so she was slightly curious as to how the face-to-face was going to feel considering she'd taken a rather big step a couple of days ago.

Ike suddenly let go of his toy, and Jenny jolted backwards, affected by the change in force. She swore good-naturedly and laughed, glaring at her baby. He bounded towards her and snatched the toy in his mouth again, attempting to drag her off the bed, and barked in a muffled way through his mouthful.

"You getting' sassy with me, General Eisenhower?" she growled playfully, arching an eyebrow. "I'll bring Banquo over here and let him scratch you on the nose!" she threatened deviously.

She heard a door open downstairs, and then Noemi warmly and brightly greeted Gibbs in her usual manner, and Gibbs answered in his gruff polite way. Ike paused, perked up, and Jenny swung her legs off the bed, standing up and stretching. Ike took the toy and dashed out of her room. Jenny followed slowly, scuffing her sock-covered feet on the floor. She leaned on the bannister just outside her room and watched as Ike excitedly met Gibbs on the stairs, howling through his mouthful of toy and wagging his tail happily.

"Thank you, Noemi," Jenny said sincerely, as the housekeeper shut the door. Noemi beamed up at her, and Jenny gave her a nod, turning to eye Gibbs as he came up the stairs.

He was in plainclothes, so he must have changed before he came up here—though his dog tags were still hanging around his neck; she saw them peeking out from the crew neck of his T-shirt. She noticed he was holding coffee, and she smiled smugly, turning and flouncing into her room. Seconds later, he entered, Ike trotting behind him, and Jenny held out her hand expectantly.

He pressed a small espresso into her palm and she sighed dramatically at the warmth, fluttering her eyelashes at him. He rolled his eyes, and she grinned, stepping forward. He bent to kiss her, and she pulled back a moment—she hesitated, and met his eyes for a moment, studying him intently. He cocked an eyebrow, and she bit her bottom lip, and then kissed him swiftly.

He put his hands on her shoulders, and kissed back.

"Hmm," she murmured analytically, pulling back and arching her own eyebrow.

"What?" he asked.

She shrugged—she didn't know how to put it into words. Instead, she snickered, and went over to the window seat with the coffee he'd brought her. She popped off the top and peered inside.

"What flavoring do I get today?" she asked, breathing in the scent of the espresso—Gibbs knew she liked her coffee in ways other than completely black, so in addition to cream and sugar, he usually surprised her with a different syrup—even if it killed him.

She tentatively tasted the scalding coffee as he answered.

"Peppermint."

She nodded, closing her eyes blissfully in approval.

"Good," she complimented, licking her lips and lowering the cup. "I'm clinging to Christmas with all my might," she added with a laugh.

She took a few long sips of the hot coffee and watched as he prowled around her room, deciding where he wanted to sit. She got up to place the coffee on her vanity, and leaned against it, chewing on her bottom lip again. Gibbs threw his keys onto the vanity next to her and tilted his head.

"How is my kitten?" Jenny asked primly.

Gibbs immediately glared at her.

"He's a little shit."

"_Jethro_!" she reprimanded indignantly.

Gibbs folded his arms defiantly. Jenny glared at him, and then lunged across the room to grab some books off the bed before Ike could jump up there and rip the pages. She chucked them onto her vanity with the other mass of things and waited for Gibbs to explain himself.

"He scratched the hell out of me the other day," Gibbs growled.

"I told you, he needs a scratching post," Jenny retorted.

"I told _you_ to declaw him," Gibbs answered stubbornly.

Jenny sighed, raising her eyes to the ceiling and shrugging dramatically. She laughed and then walked over and shut her door most of the way—casually. Gibbs narrowed his eyes warily, and Jenny shrugged.

"Colonel's at the Pentagon," she said, and frowned. "I've barely seen him since he got back from Cuba," she added testily. "He's dealing with some intelligence stuff, and then NCIS won't get off his back about this arms deal case he's in the middle of," she trailed off and rolled her eyes, grabbing her coffee and waltzing back to the window seat.

She sat down and lounged back against the pillows, laughing a little when she saw Gibbs still glaring suspiciously at the nearly shut door.

"Noemi doesn't know the open door rule," she soothed, tilting her head. "Well, she knows it, but she thinks Dad is silly about it; she won't mind," she said firmly, beckoning Gibbs over.

He seemed to consider his options, decide to fuck the rules, and came over, leaning against the other side of the window seat.

"What's the deal with your old man and NCIS?" he asked gruffly.

Jenny rolled her eyes massively.

"NCIS uncovered this arms deal catastrophe that leads to the Pentagon," she explained. "It's complex, and I'm obviously not privy to the intimate details, but the investigation led them to Dad's division, and he's trying to cooperate, do his job, and figure out which one of his inferior officers is selling off our old Cold War arsenal right under his nose."

Jenny snorted, and buried her nose in her coffee for a moment, taking a long, thoughtful sip.

"I was scared they were going to investigate him, because he deals with private defense contractors, and our brownstone doesn't reflect the pay grade he dealt with for most of this life," she trailed off, making a face, and drinking her coffee again.

Her father had been cleared, and was in fact working with NCIS and Army-CID as best as he could, but she'd still been tense for a while—if only because Rene Benoit had been so sketchy about it, when her father needed him to confirm some things.

Gibbs looked around, surveying Jenny's nice room in the brick townhouse, and then glanced out the window at the swanky Georgetown street. She dipped her head, smirking a little, and he gave her a look of silent question. She grinned.

"It's my grandparents'," she said warmly. "Not his parents," she elaborated, her eyes flickering with slight annoyance. "Kimberly's parents. My grandfather inherited it from his brother, and they never sold it, even though they lived in Tennessee. It was intended for Kimberly, but when she ran off, they disowned her and they gave it to my father."

"He took it?" Gibbs snorted in disbelief—Colonel Shepard didn't seem like the kind of man who took grandiose gestures of charity kindly.

Jenny smiled softly.

"For me," she said quietly. "He worked out a deal so that he bought it from them at a steal price, so he could keep some pride, but he knew I needed a place to call home. He hired Noemi, and we set up here permanently, when he wasn't deployed."

Gibbs nodded, eyeing the street again—he liked the quiet neighborhood, even if he'd want a bigger backyard or more space to spread out away from people. He liked the idea of a white picket fence, and this was all brick. He smirked suddenly, and swung his legs up on the window seat, crowding out Jenny.

She giggled and glared at him, making room and tangling hers up in his, and he shot her a sly look.

"If people weren't stealin' cold war weapons, we'd never have met," he said smugly.

She laughed, raising her brows.

"Yeah? How do you figure?"

He shrugged.

"That's what I was doin' here, when I met you in June," he said gruffly. "Offered to run that case file to the Colonel from one of the men in the recruitment office."

Jenny tilted her head thoughtfully, flashing back to that day. She grinned brightly.

"Never guessed you'd get a girlfriend out of it, huh?" she teased.

"You were washin' that damn car," he remembered, snorting. "Thought I was in a fancy episode of Dukes of Hazard."

She smiled into her coffee.

"Except for the red hair," she murmured primly.

He nodded.

"'Cept for the hair," he agreed hoarsely.

She smiled again and finished off her coffee, leaning over to set it on the floor carefully. She glanced at Ike, lounging on the bed, and the barely cracked door, and she pushed her hair back. She massaged her fingers through the tangles and chewed on her lip—he shifted and pulled something out of his pocket.

"Picked you up somethin'," he growled, tossing a black T-shirt at her unceremoniously.

She caught it, shaking it out curiously and holding it up. She smirked, and peeked around it, puckering her lips at him.

"_Property of a U.S. Marine_?" she quoted, reading off the shirt. She bit her lip and hugged the shirt to her chest, marveling at how soft it was—and she laughed again, changing positions suddenly and straddling his lap. She arched en eyebrow. "I got promoted to a possession?" she asked, feigning a breathy sort of excitement. "My, what presumption—what gave you the _nerve_?" she demanded, her cheeks flushing.

His hands rested on her thighs—as they always did when she sat on his lap like this. He looked at her mysteriously, his eyes dark and affectionate, and she grinned, still holding the shirt against her. She leaned closer, meeting his eyes brazenly and brushing her lips against him.

"Was it our little tryst in your truck?" she whispered, tilting her head.

She saw his eyes flick to her mouth, and he shrugged in as cool a way as possible.

"That?" he scoffed, his hands sliding up her thighs and wrapping around her lower back, bunching her skirt in odd, revealing positions. "Can't say I _hated_ it," he deadpanned.

She blushed and pushed her forehead against his, her nose smashing up against his. She scrunched up her face, smiling, and kissed him, lingering for a moment, her head spinning as his hands moved over her—she immediately wanted more than a kiss; she wanted him to touch her like he had in his truck the other night, and make her come again—her breath caught in her throat and she pulled back.

He leaned his head back against the wall, and she took a deep breath, her eyes on his honestly. He moved one of his legs, drawing his knee up, and she shifted, leaning against his thigh and perching more firmly over his groin. His jaw tightened. She looked down at the shirt in her hands, then looked up and smiled wickedly.

She dropped it between them and then reached for her button down white shirt.

"I suppose I'll make sure your little gift fits," she said wryly, unfastening the first two buttons.

He watched her, taken aback, and then he reached out and started undoing the buttons for her, apparently emboldened by how intimate they'd gotten in his truck. He'd just untucked the white shirt from the skirt and slipped his hands against her skin and up over her ribs when she realized he was being more forward than usual—and she gasped, sitting still for a moment and letting his warm hands run over her.

"Or you could leave it off," he suggested gruffly; bluntly.

"Okay," she said in a soft voice, closing her eyes and nodding. His hands ran over her breasts, cupped them, slipped inside the material, and she gasped, fumbling the t-shirt out of her hands and shifting forward.

She yanked up the hem of his shirt, getting it over his head with a decent amount of grace, considering it meant convincing him to take his hands off her breasts for, like, a second, and move his arms. She dropped that shirt, and her white one, and the new black one, to the floor, and swallowed—she suddenly realized she'd never taken any of his clothing off when they got physical—unless unzipping his pants counted.

He slid one arm around her hips and pulled her close, an aggressive sigh rumbling through his chest when she fell forward and kissed his neck, her lips moving cautiously, tentatively, lower on his chest. Her heart started beating madly again, and she felt a little disarmed—there was _something_ she should be considering, right now, but she couldn't, because she was distracted by how much she wanted this to keep going.

"Jethro," she mumbled, her nose pressed against his shoulder. She lifted her head, and he glanced at her, his hands stopping—one clutched her skirt in his fingers, the other was finding its way between her thighs under the skirt.

She didn't know what she had intended to say, but she was thinking a thousand things, and going down on him was one of them—but figuring out the logistics of that was difficult right now, and so she met his eyes and blurted out—

"Was it good?"

He blinked, distracted, tilting his head.

"Was what good?" he asked huskily.

She moved closer, her lips near his ear.

"The blowjob," she murmured.

His shoulders twitched a little, and he moved his hand up her back to her hair, and then she realized he was laughing under his breath. He swallowed hard and nodded against her neck.

"It was good, Jen," he placated in her ear, tangling his hand in her hair.

"I want to do it again," she confessed, growling a little.

"Fuck," he mumbled, his lips moving over her bra strap, dragging it down her shoulder—she nodded to him earnestly, lowering her head and resting her cheek against his shoulder—his hands were everywhere suddenly. "Huh-uh," he growled. "Gotta return the favor first," he mumbled, and her breath caught in her throat—but that wasn't what was happening under her skirt.

His hands were in her panties again, and she'd slipped her hands down to his stomach, felt the hard abdominal muscles there, and unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, and she rose up on her knees a little, and he tilted his head back and kissed her. His pulled her panties down her thighs a little, and she gasped; her head spun, and suddenly logic and emotion collided painfully in her chest and head—his fingers were wet against the inside of her thighs, and she could feel him, his cock, hard against her, too—and she reared back.

"_Stop_," she gasped, pressing her hand to his chest. She felt scared. "Jethro," she choked, shaking her head. "No. We, not_—here,"_ she was so overwhelmed suddenly, and there were noises in the hall that didn't make sense—the _hall!_

She abruptly remembered they were in her bedroom, in her father's house, and he was taking his hands off her—respectfully—and his hands were moving with hers under her skirt in a reluctant, hesitant way—she shifted against him and moaned—why had she wanted to stop-? What was wrong with being in her window seat-?

The bedroom door crashed open suddenly, and Jenny let out a startled, involuntary _shriek_.

"JENNIFER MORGAN SHEPARD!" her father bellowed—and she didn't know who was more appalled, she or he.

She was scrambling suddenly to shove Gibbs back in his pants under her skirt, and fling herself off of him—trying to mitigate the situation, and she scrambled to grab a shirt and clutch it to her chest, her neck and shoulders as red as her face—she was in her bra, and Gibbs was half-dressed, and her father had just barged in—

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" The Colonel raged.

Ike lifted his head and barked, startled.

"What are you—DADDY, GET OUT," she stammered, panicked. "You're supposed to be—at _work,_ you can't just," she struggled, tripping over her words while Gibbs violently jerked his shirt back on. "You can't just barge in here!" she shouted weakly, defensive.

"I can do whatever I damn please in _my_ house!" roared the Colonel. He slammed his hand onto the door to reiterate how pissed he was that he'd had to barge in in the first place, and then he stepped back and pointed into the hall. "Corporal, you've got ten seconds to get your ass down those stairs and plant it on the front porch," he bellowed.

Gibbs didn't hesitate; he marched out of the room obediently, and for the first time Jenny thought he actually looked completely terrified. She stomped her foot, starting to run forward—but then she realized she was still half-dressed, clutching a shirt to her chest, and the look on her father's face was in no way conducive to her being a smartass.

"You have exactly two minutes to get decent and get your sorry ass in the study, young lady," the Colonel growled.

He gave her a last, piercing glare, and turned on his heel and stormed out. She stood in shock, her cheeks burning—and then she pulled the shirt over her head—the T-shirt Gibbs had just given her—and she swallowed the embarrassed, bad taste in her mouth and dashed after her father.

"Dad!" she shouted, leaping off the stairs. "Dad—just—calm _down,"_ she tried, catching up to him—in the kitchen?

Noemi was staring with wide eyes as Colonel Shepard filled a large crystal punch bowl with ice and water, a dark, foreboding look on his face. Jenny stared, her mouth open, and then stepped out of his way as he stormed out of the kitchen and down the hall.

"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded. "DAD!" she shrieked in horror, as he opened the front door, barked an order at Gibbs, and then proceeded to dump the entire bowl of ice water on Gibbs' head.

Gibbs stood there, drenched in freezing water, outside in the middle of January, and the Colonel reached out and smacked him hard in the back of the head.

"There's your goddamn cold shower, son," he barked, slinging the punch bowl over onto the little hall table with a clang and producing Gibbs' keys almost—miraculously, he must have picked them up off her vanity. He threw the keys at Gibbs' chest and pointed violently to the truck. "I don't want to see you for a week," he growled coldly.

Gibbs stood for a moment, looking at Jenny, his jaw set, and then he nodded once. It was perhaps is one meager act of defiance that he didn't follow it with his usual quick, respectful 'Yes, sir'.

The worst thing was—the absolute, pure annoyance and frustration on Gibbs' face was new to Jenny, and it made her chest hurt, and her eyes sting.

Her father slammed the front door so suddenly and so loudly that the stained glass rattled, and he turned, folded his arms, and faced his disheveled teenage daughter. She ran a hand through her hair, hiding her face against her arm, and started to cry—she was scared, she was overwhelmed, she was embarrassed.

He ignored it, and snapped his fingers, and marched her straight into his study.

* * *

Out of respect for Noemi's sensibilities, he closed the study door; but even his daughter's crying did not stop him from starting in on her immediately—it took all he had to force himself to remain angry when she was crying, because the rarity of Jenny actually crying meant said crying bewildered him immensely—but he couldn't afford to let this one go.

"What were you thinking?" he demanded again, slamming his hand on the table.

"Dad, I—"

"Jennifer, you were _in the window seat_! I could see you from the street!" he roared.

Jenny pulled her hand away from her face and glared at him, her eyes as red as her cheeks now—she hadn't thought about that, but she was immediately ashamed to have it pointed out to her, and in addition to everything else she was feeling, now she felt guilty and stupid.

He didn't wait for her to form a sentence; he pushed on aggressively.

"What the _hell_ did you think you were doing up there—I come home, the bedroom door is shut, you and your boyfriend are half-naked for the whole goddamn street to see—if I had known you were planning to do something like this while I was gone—"

"I wasn't!" Jenny interrupted finally, stomping her foot desperately. Tears dropped from her lashes and she pursed her lips. "I didn't plan—you knew he was coming over, we just wanted—it just _happened—_I mean," she looked horrified suddenly, and the Colonel paled considerably— "_Nothing_ happened," she corrected, her voice rising in a panic. "We weren't doing anything—"

"Don't give me that bullshit, Jennifer, I didn't fall off the turnip truck yesterday!" her father bellowed.

"It isn't _bullshit_!" she shouted fiercely. "We _weren't_ having—we weren't having sex; we _haven't_ had sex!" she yelled. "I swear, he was just—we just—it got carried away, I wasn't thinking straight—"

"And if you _weren't thinking straight_, how the hell can you tell me with any degree of certainty that you weren't about to have sex with that boy without so much as a second thought to the consequences!"

Jenny's mouth fell open; she looked as if she'd been slapped in the face—she felt so small, and so belittled, by what he'd just said—and it was made so much worse by the fact that she knew he was right; she had gotten caught up in how exhilarated it had been to hook-up with him in his car, and she'd thought that made her an adult—and it was awful, just awful, to be struggling with all this while her father was _yelling_ at her.

The Colonel glared at her—sternly, paternally, angrily—for a moment longer, making sure she felt the full weight of his discontent, and then he sat down heavily at his desk and leaned forward, rubbing his palm over his jaw and his face roughly.

Jenny ran her hands through her hair anxiously, covering her mouth, fresh tears spilling down her face. Frustrated, the Colonel smacked his hands on his desk, glaring at her warily.

"Jenny, why are you _crying_?" he demanded, exasperated—wasn't he the one who should be crying? He'd just caught his seventeen-year-old daughter damn near in the throes of passion with her twenty-two-year old boyfriend—

"_Because_," she burst out, looking at him in disbelief. "Because I'm—I'm _embarrassed_, and I'm pissed off and," she fumbled around for words. "You saw me without my shirt on!" she squeaked, covering her eyes and breaking into tears again.

The Colonel grimaced; refusing to acknowledge what he'd seen in that room—mostly because he _hadn't_ seen where Gibbs hands were, and that posed a problem. Hands that weren't visible meant hands that were touching something on his daughter that should be protected by about eighteen different Dad laws.

"You didn't have to throw water on him!" Jenny cried, throwing her hand out. She clenched her fist. "He wasn't hurting me or anything—he wasn't doing anything wrong!"

"You aren't legal," the Colonel answered, his voicing rising again. "Goddamnit, Jennifer, that idiot is jeopardizing his career, putting his hands on you—"

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure you're _so_ worried about Gibbs' _career—"_

"I don't give a shit about Gibbs' career!" roared the Colonel. He sat forward and pointed sharply at his daughter—it wasn't true, but that wasn't the point of this conversation. "But it sure as _hell_ is something _he_ should be thinking about, and something I'd think you'd consider when you make decisions involving a man you like," he reprimanded, spitting the words sourly.

Jenny moved her lips soundlessly, her face darkening angrily—she wanted to shake herself; she couldn't seem to stop crying; she wanted to defend Gibbs, but she felt like her father was losing respect for her by the second, and she wanted to mitigate that damage as well.

"You—you know you can trust me!" Jenny fired back, shoving her hair back. "Dad, I don't get in trouble, I respect your rules—"

"Your door is supposed to be open—"

"That's a stupid rule!" she yelled over him, well aware that she was contradicting herself. She paced forward, leaning on his desk. "You deprive me of the circumstance to make the smart choice when you make me keep the door open; when the door is open I only have the choice to behave—"

"And you clearly can't behave with the door closed—"

"I wasn't—" she started. She clutched the table hard, her eyes flashing. "It's not misbehaving for me to _kiss_ my boyfriend! If it were summer, we'd see each other half-naked all the time—Daddy, you're not a freakin' bible-thumper, you can't all of a sudden tell me you think I'm a tramp because you caught me—um," she faltered a little.

"I don't think you're a tramp, Jennifer," the Colonel snapped sharply, catching her eye with a pointed, firm look. He gave her a frustrated look, clenched his jaw, and then held his palm out. "Surely I don't have to tell you the kinds of things that could happen," he growled tightly.

"No," she said aggressively, spitting the word.

"Jenny," Jasper said anyway. "You are too young," he held up his hand when she started to protest, "_You are too young_ for this kind of thing—you are a seventeen-year-old with college coming up, you have a job, you have a future—you do not want to get pregnant—"

"Oh my god, Dad, not all girls who have sex get pregnant!" she shouted, interrupting. She bit her lip, and shook her head, her cheeks flushing. "I told you—we're not, and I wouldn't—I told him to stop, and he was stopping," she fumbled, horribly embarrassed again, and tears spilled over her cheeks. "I am _trying_ to be the smart girl, and I am trying to make you proud, but that doesn't mean I can't grow up!"

The Colonel leaned forward, his expression heavy. Her words carried a lot of weight, and though the initial rage he'd felt at seeing Gibbs manhandling his daughter was fading, the paternal heart attack he'd had over the idea of her growing up, and the thought that she might get hurt or make a mistake, it was still raging in his chest—and he was just worried; just trying to protect her.

He held up his hand calmly again.

"You're not an adult yet," he said in a low, serious voice. "Jennifer," he placated shortly. "Jennifer, you are an incredibly smart young woman, and I am very proud of you, but you have got to understand where I am coming from," he went on. He swallowed tensely, gritting his teeth. "I made mistakes like this when I was younger—"

"You cannot make my mistakes for me—Gibbs isn't a mistake—"

"I am not saying he is," The Colonel spoke over her sharply. "I _can't_ make your mistakes; but I can do my best to make sure you don't do something stupid," he growled. "I don't want to know what you and Gibbs were doing up in your room," he added tensely, a sour look on his face again. "I am concerned with _you_."

"What about me?" she asked, exasperated, swiping at her eyes furiously.

The Colonel looked strained. He rubbed his jaw, and then rested his hand tensely on his desk, his teeth clenched.

"I don't want you to do something you aren't ready for because Gibbs is older than you," he forced out uncomfortably. If he wasn't such a well-trained Colonel, he would have blushed; but Colonels did not blush. "I am trying—to protect you," he growled. "There are things that need to be considered, and I don't like the idea of you," he paused, and then he steeled himself. "You're too young to be having sex, Jenny," he said flatly. "He's your first boyfriend, you don't have any," Jasper sighed—he was trying to tell her, it was hard to make these decisions, and if she was this upset and conflicted, she wasn't ready; he couldn't put it into words. "Jennifer," he said, exasperated and stern, "I don't know if you're ready to deal with the very adult responsibilities that come with this."

She swallowed hard.

"Well, good," she snapped boldly, and then sat down dejectedly on the couch and wrapped her arms around herself. "Because I—I don't either," she said, her voice breaking as she started to cry again.

She looked down at her knees, taking comfort in the t-shirt Gibbs had given her—it smelled like him—and clenched her teeth, trying to ignore her father's piercing, intent glare. He stayed silent, though, and she was grateful, because it gave her a moment to compose herself, and she pushed her hands through her hair again, and straightened up, slowly looking over at him.

He was looking, with a strange mixture of annoyance and defeat at her shirt, and then he sighed and rubbed his head. He got up, and poured himself a measure of scotch, rubbing his jaw again before he knocked it back. He came around the desk and leaned against it, and he looked intimidating and imposing, like he used to look when she was a little girl, watching him walk home to her across the airport after a deployment.

She looked up at him.

"Is Gibbs strong-arming you on this?" he asked warily. He had asked Gibbs—but it would make him feel a world better if he heard it from Jenny herself.

She shook her head.

"No," she breathed out honestly, her voice shaking. She closed her eyes. "He's not, he—I told you, don't worry about him, he's," she trailed off, lifted her head, and sighed. "He's a good man," she mumbled, her voice fading a little. She clenched her jaw, frowning. She looked uncomfortable. "This may come as a shock to you, Daddy, but guys aren't the only people in a relationship who want…sex," she said, hoping she was being vague enough without starting yet another terribly awkward conversation.

Her father snorted derisively, but there was a look of grim knowledge on his face, and he gave her a curt nod. She closed her eyes, and tears slipped out from her lashes, drying on her face. She sniffed, and wiped at her cheeks furiously.

"I'm not like Kimberly," she said finally. "I'm not wild, I'm not stupid, I _think,"_ she said painfully. "I am doing so much to take care of myself, and make sure I am making choices I am happy with, and it's still trial and error, okay? You can't protect me from that," she said flatly. "But you—want to, and I get that, and I—I appreciate it…I just…you should know it's not your fault, if I make a stupid mistake—but I _won't,"_ she reiterated. "Okay? I—I wouldn't do it without…birth control or—well, you know it took me six months to pick out which car I wanted," she almost started to cry again.

Her father nodded, holding up his hands.

"Stop, Jennifer, stop," he muttered, his shoulders slumping. He wanted the conversation to be over suddenly; he wanted time to think. He grimaced again, and gripped his desk tightly, knuckles turning white.

He cleared his throat, and then straightened.

"Here's the deal," he said gruffly. "I want you to continue under my rules until you're eighteen," he said frankly. "Open doors, curfews, exact details of where you are," he detailed. "You need room to make smart choices; I understand that, but I cannot let go yet. You're my daughter. You're still six years old in my eyes," he told bluntly.

"I want you to trust me more," she said assertively. "Dad, I," she paused. "Gibbs does what you ask, he always does, any time I've crossed the line—it's been me; you know that. I want you to let me have a relationship—I know, I know you think I'm too young, and not ready…and I told you, I'm _not_ ready…I'm still…I'm processing having a boyfriend but you," she paused, and took a deep breath, "You can't know when I'm ready to…make adult decisions," she said with a wince. "_I_'m the only one who can know. And you have to trust that I know myself—enough to be right."

The Colonel rubbed his jaw. He nodded, curtly—she was right; his ideas of when she should do what, he realized, were suddenly based on traditional customs he hadn't even raised her on—the wait until marriage thing, the conservative, innocent thing, etc. He was reacting to her growing up badly, and he was running the risk of provoking her to rebellion—though Jenny was too practical to ever do much that could really hurt her or her future. And that—he realized, was precisely why he needed to come to grips with her growing up rather than start taking it out on her.

She wiped her face again, and looked away.

He cleared his throat again.

"You will obey the rules we have in place until you are eighteen," he reiterated.

She nodded, chewing on her lip.

"What I do within the confines of those rules is up to my discretion," she said quietly.

He struggled with that one, but nodded shortly—with one caveat.

"I want you to take a step back from Gibbs for a week," he said bluntly. "Do some of that thinking you're so good at and let yourself cool off."

_She_ struggled with _that_ one—because this was supposed to be their weekend together, their last weekend of idling around and being lazy before she went back to school and he started the rigorous eight week sniper training course that would seriously limit their time together.

But—she knew she owed her father this; he wasn't asking too much, and he had just made a considerable concession.

"Yes, sir," she said quietly.

Her father looked at her, weary from the ordeal. He pushed off from his desk and put his hand on her head, ruffling her head affectionately. She looked up at him, and he smiled with gentle firmness, to let her know when he looked at her, he really was still looking at his little girl, and not—what had she accused him of seeing her as? A tramp?—someone he couldn't be proud of.

"I love you, G.I. Jen," he said gruffly.

She smiled, but she couldn't contribute to the mushiness—they had a rule; only one of them could be mushy at once. She swatted his hand away, and mustered a weak glare.

"Yeah, yeah, Colonel—did you have to chuck ice water on him?" she asked hoarsely, wiping her face one last time.

Her father's features darkened, and he pointed at her.

"_Yes_," he growled, firmly and dangerously, with all the intimidation of one formidable United States Army Colonel.

* * *

It didn't matter that they had made a sort of peace in their argument; dinner was still a slightly more subdued affair than usual—the Colonel spent most of it making small talk with Noemi, and Jenny spent most of it quietly staring at her food. She excused herself politely, thanked Noemi, and washed her own dish—and then she made a comment about taking a long bath, watching a black and white movie, and going to bed. Her father let her go—and not long after, he retreated into his study.

It was maybe an hour later that Noemi crept in with a large mug of decaf. With a small, sweet smile, she tipped a nice measure of scotch into the warm beverage and placed it before the Colonel before she herself sat down to join him, cradling in her own palms a mug of soothing tea.

He sighed and leaned back, stretching and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Ah, hell," he muttered. "Nomi, Nomi, Nomi," he muttered—he never called her by her full name anymore; he'd just started affectionately shortening it, and when Jenny had pointed it out loudly at dinner one evening, he'd stopped pretending he wasn't doing it.

"Senorita is giving you headache," Noemi noted.

Jasper snorted loudly, smirking at her dully.

"She's a walking goddamn headache," he growled.

"Ah, you joke, Senor, Miss Jenny is good girl," Noemi laughed, smiling brightly.

The Colonel waved his hand.

"Jasper," he grunted, reminding her not to be formal with him anymore. "I know," he agreed firmly. "I don't know how I did it," he muttered to himself—he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

The first year had been more impossible than Jenny would ever know—his deployment in Bosnia had been brutal and unforgiving, and he'd gotten through all the atrocities he'd faced just by reminding himself he had Kimmy and Jenny to go home to—only to go home and find out his wife had abandoned their daughter and disappeared for good.

He'd had no idea how he was going to raise Jenny, he had always for some reason thought he wouldn't have much to do with it—but he realized he had to do it, and do it well, because she was a little girl whose mother had never treated her right, and he didn't want her to suffer for it. So, he'd taken advice from her grandparents, and he'd sought the advice of other fathers he served with—behind closed doors, men were surprisingly talkative about family life—and he had done his best.

"You good to her," Noemi said. "You make her happy, make sure she knows you love her," she added, and shrugged. "Miss Jenny, she just _smart_," Noemi said.

The Colonel laughed.

"You're right; it's got nothin' to do with me!"

Noemi hastily tried to correct herself, but the Colonel waved her off. He sighed and took a long sip of spiked coffee, nodding appreciatively at the burn. He set the mug down and eyed Noemi thoughtfully.

"You know what was goin' on up in her room today?" he asked.

"I not ask," Noemi said neutrally. She hesitated. "Senorita, she know how to take care of her."

"Yeah," grunted the Colonel nostalgically. "She didn't used to," he grumbled. "She used to make me do everything for her. It was just me'n 'her, 'til this shmuck came along."

Noemi smiled placidly, and the colonel looked at her intently.

"You like 'im, Nomi?" he asked. "This—_Jethro_?" he mimicked the way Jenny said his name, and Noemi giggled.

The brunette tilted her head, inhaling her tea for a moment before taking a sip and nodding.

"I know he older, but that—that normal, where I come from. Older man, they take care of younger girl," she explained. "Things different here, yes, but Senor Gibbs, he like Miss Jenny," she said firmly. "He bring her things she like, he care about her," Noemi smiled warmly. "I say Senor Gibbs, he love Miss Jenny."

"You think he _loves_ her?" scoffed Jasper, rolling his eyes. He opened his desk drawer and drew out a cigar, his eyes flickering with annoyance. "Ah, _hell_."

The Colonel sat there, thinking about digging out a lighter, contemplating a world in which a Marine was in love with his daughter—really in love with her. She was so young, and she was complex in the way she made choices and lived life in a way that, Jasper could tell, could conflict with how straightforward and blunt Gibbs was.

He shook his head.

"He's an idiot," he growled. "Corporal Taliban," he growled. "What kind of dumbass thinks he can snatch a Colonel's daughter off her feet, and then ends up fallin' himself?"

Noemi's eyebrows went up.

"You think Senor is idiot for loving Miss Jenny?" she asked. "Why, Jasper?"

Taken aback, the Colonel paused, letting the point sink in.

"I guess he'd be an idiot not to love her," he growled slowly.

Noemi nodded sagely, lifting her tea to her lips.

The Colonel leaned back in his chair, his cigar held limply in his hands. He frowned, sinking into his thoughts, and then took a moment to consider Noemi intently.

"Nomi," he said abruptly. "You think she loves him?"

Noemi tilted her head carefully.

"Miss Jenny, she think young and love not possible," she pointed out. "She think it mean she stupid."

The Colonel let himself be absorbed in silence again—struck by the implications of Noemi's assessment. She was right, he was sure, because Jenny had so much animosity in her towards her mother, and she viewed her mother as an idiotic example in shallow teenage love.

That, too, worried him—as much as her growing up, or getting hurt by Gibbs, or making a mistake—it worried him that she might not acknowledge that she could love this guy, who he might be persuaded to admit—grudgingly—was a good man, and that might hurt her most in the end.

* * *

Jenny was curled up with Ike on the couch in the bonus room. She was snuggled in blankets and lightly using her beloved dog as a pillow while she vaguely watched her well-used DVD of _From Here to Eternity_—which she watched for Frank Sinatra, of course.

She had been texting Nina listlessly for about ten minutes when she rolled her eyes at herself and decided to just call him—she didn't think calling Gibbs would instigate any wars with her father.

She muted the volume on the movie and shifted, rolling onto her back. Ike stretched, and she moved her head to let him move his legs before placing it back on his stomach gently. She chewed her lip while she waited—Gibbs answered on the last ring, which made her stomach drop, because he usually answered on the very first, when she called.

"Gibbs," he said.

"It's me," she said, though she knew—

"I know," he said gruffly, after a moment.

She fell silent, unsure what she had wanted to say, and then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Did you—thaw out?" she asked grimly, shuddering at how cold he must have been, soaked in water in January.

He grunted in a way that wasn't really an answer, and she heard him shuffling around—it sounded like he was in the kitchen. She heard the can opener, and smiled softly; he must be feeding Banquo.

"Got a whole new outlook on blue balls," he muttered—and she laughed, relieved that he'd said something, made a joke—and oh, it was such a perfect joke for the situation.

"I'm sorry," she said in a rush. "I swear, he's—I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Gibbs grunted. "Sign of weakness."

She chewed on her lip.

"That's an interesting outlook," she murmured uncertainly.

He sensed she might be upset, and he cleared his throat.

"He's just bein' your dad, Jen," Gibbs said bluntly, waving it off. "Could've been worse."

"How, Jethro?" she demanded skeptically.

"Coulda pulled a sawed off shotgun on me," Gibbs said bluntly. "Girl I dated in high school, her old man did that."

Jenny laughed softly, feeling a little better. There was a thunk, and then Gibbs' made a whistling noise. She breathed out slowly—she didn't know if he was mad at her, but she kept seeing how annoyed Gibbs had looked, and it was bothering her.

"You okay, Jen?" Gibbs asked finally.

She pushed her hand through her hair, resting her fingers on Ike and letting him lick her knuckles affectionately.

"It was so," she started, her voice cracking a little, "embarrassing. He just…and then, he yelled at me…it felt like hours, and I felt so disappointing, and it was so awkward," she mumbled.

He listened to her.

"You shouldn't," Gibbs said bluntly.

"I," she began. Her brow furrowed.

"You shouldn't feel bad," Gibbs added shortly. "It's not his business."

Jenny sucked on her lower lip—as much as it made her feel insecure that Gibbs seemed annoyed about being stopped, or interrupted, or whatever—there was some relief in knowing that he wanted to—well, go all the way. She had thought she was the only one floundering around, and maybe this indicated that they should talk—

"I don't feel bad," she said tightly. "I was participating, I wanted to, just not—there," she said, and then she blushed, and wanted to kick herself, because she wasn't making herself clear. Hurriedly, she went on. "Dad got over himself," she muttered.

"Jen," Gibbs said tensely. He was silent for a long time. "I'm not mad at _you,"_ he said finally, and he sounded confused.

She smiled. That was Gibbs—he was so…perceptive. He could sense things about people; what was scaring them, what they were worrying about, and yet he had the hardest time putting it into words. She thought at first he was just very male and straightforward, but what it really was was an expression of how sensitive he was to people and instinct in general, and how incapable he was of putting what was natural and obvious to him into words.

She didn't say anything, but after a moment, she struck up a normal conversation.

"He wants you out of sight, out of mind for a week," she said frankly.

"You want to come play with Banquo next weekend, then?" Gibbs asked, accommodating her father silently.

"I can't," she sighed. "I—Holly and Nina and I, we always do a summit after the New Year."

"A summit?"

"It's a slumber party that lasts from Friday night to Sunday, and we just hang out, and we summarize the whole year, and discuss goals for the next," she broke off, blushing. "It's silly, we started when we were stupid freshmen, but I love it, and I can't bail," she said. She chewed on her lip. "And I thought…it might be an extra gesture of respect to my father, to not go over to your place for a little while."

Gibbs grunted in an indecipherable way. Then, he said:

"I don't think it's silly."

She smiled, and snuggled down for a phone conversation—that was clearly going to remain relatively casual, and not delve into any—intimate issues.

"I took a really long bath tonight, and the water got cold," she murmured. "I was trying to empathize with your icy plight," she laughed. "And—Jackie texted me, she's going to meet me for coffee at the cafe, before my shift. She said she thinks it's time she got to know me better—and she wants to hold me to my ice skating offer."

He was completely silent, and Jenny's eyes flew open after a minute passed.

"Jethro?" she asked hesitantly.

"I was thinkin' about you in the bath," he said dryly. "'Cept then I had a traumatic flashback to ice cold water freezing my balls off."

She threw her head back and laughed so loudly that Ike growled at her sleepily.

* * *

With an air of finality, Holly Daniels locked her bedroom door and pranced into the middle of her room. She sat down on the floor, where her friends were lounging amidst a mess of make-up, hair supplies, magazines, books, and snacks, and distributed warm, toasty mugs of hot, spiked apple cider.

"My parents are in bed," she said. "Cell phones are off," she noted, glancing at the pile of silenced items on her bed. "_Sex and the City_ is playing—okay," she said, nodding and lifting her glass with a toast. "Let the 2007 recap summit—begin!"

Jenny and Nina dramatically toasted her, and they all took grateful sips of Holly's delicious spiked cider recipe. Holly took hers and bounded over to her canopy bed, sitting on the edge of it and wedging the mug between her thighs.

"Back it up, Jenny, I want to fishtail your hair," she said. "Nina, will you do my nails after that? You're so good at French manicure."

"Mmm-hmm," Nina agreed, busy working her magic on Jenny's toes. "As soon as I'm finished with this one's Camo toes," she said.

"Ooh," Holly teased silkily. "Supporting our troops, eh?"

Jenny gave her a smug look and leaned back into Holly's hands so the Cheerleader could do her hair.

"Okay—this is the first night of the Summit, so let's do an overview of the year—"

"Nina got into like, eight genius schools."

"And performed in three different Russian ballet shows!"

"Jenny won the state debate competition in May—"

"Holly's cheer captain, and totally almost slept through her Mathlete competition—"

"Hey, I still made it—and won!"

"Nina's been on dates with two guys—and she drinks!"

"We all applied to college!"

"Jenny got a boyfriend—and gave a blowjob!"

The girls dissolved into giggles, breathless from the mass of news they were going over—and they went on and on, detailing more major events in their lives, until they were tongue-tied over what had already been said, and laughing helplessly.

Holly pulled on Jenny's hair.

"Sit still, Jesus, you'd think I'm a miracle worker—so, okay, here's what I want to know," Holly said pointedly. "Nina—are you going to date Tim McGee? Or—I mean, what?"

"You know how I feel about dating," Nina said simply.

"No one knows who they are better than you do," Holly pointed out firmly, and then moved her fingers quickly through Jenny's hair as she hesitated to go on. "Guys, I—I think this year is going to be really big."

"I mean, yeah," Nina said. "We're all going to college—this is going to be a pivotal year."

Holly nodded. She seemed to struggle, and then she tilted her head back.

"I've been thinking—Mark and I may be over, this summer," she revealed.

Nina raised her brows, and Jenny pulled out of Holly's grip, turning fully around to stare at her.

"What?" she asked. She fumbled around for something to say. "W—why?"

Holly made a face, and bounced on the bed a little.

"I—well, I've been thinking about accepting my scholarship offer at Hawaii, and that's so far away from Mark," she said. "He's—it's not out yet, so keep it quiet, but he's going to sign with LSU, and I'm so proud of him but—it's such a huge distance," she said logically. "I find out if I got in to LSU in April, but…Hawaii needs a decision by March fifteenth."

Jenny cocked her head.

"Mark doesn't want a long distance relationship?" she asked.

"I—I don't know if I do," Holly said. "Look, it's like—Nina got me thinking. She doesn't want to date until she knows who she is; well, I don't really know what it's like to be just Holly, do I? I've been Holly–and-Mark since I was _fifteen_. I realized that I always think in terms of Mark—and I love him, so that's not necessarily bad, because I've never done something that makes me miserable, I'm happy but…shouldn't I be just Holly, at some point?"

"I think it's a good idea," Nina said automatically. She nodded thoughtfully. "You and Mark, if you guys are each other's soul mate, it won't matter if you break up for a while," she pointed out logically.

"That's what I thought," Holly said. "But I—I don't want to break up with him. I want to keep being Mark and Holly," she said, frowning. "Jenny," she said, tugging on Jenny's hair. "What are you going to do, about Gibbs?"

Jenny's heart slammed into her chest, and she moved her lips slightly, unsure how to answer—she hadn't even really—thought about it. Nina had mentioned it, vaguely, at Kensi Blye's party, but it still seemed so surreal and far off—

"We're different," she said delicately. "We…our relationship is new, and right now I…don't want it to end," she said. "I don't mean—"

"I know what you mean," Holly said earnestly. "And he's older, and he's military, so he won't be unaccustomed to long distance," she guessed—but Jenny wasn't so sure; Gibbs seemed to hate the idea, she'd gotten that impression when he whined that she was applying all over the country.

Jenny rubbed her face.

"It's not something I want to think about right now," she admitted. "I'm concerned—with other things."

She hesitated.

"The Colonel—he walked in on me and Gibbs…in a compromising position."

"Oh god."

"No!"

Nina and Holly both took huge gulps of their cider, and then Holly leaned forward.

"Not—during sex?"

"No," Jenny said hastily. "No, no, we're still…no, god, I'm still shocked I went down on him—but, um," she perked up, "he did mention he wanted to return the favor," she said wryly.

Holly squealed.

"Lucky! Mark wouldn't until like, we'd been having sex for months—stupid high school boys," she said rapidly, and Nina leaned forward, tilting her head.

"What were you doing?" she asked.

"We," Jenny began, and then stopped. "We almost had sex," she admitted. "We were kissing, and then it got out of hand, and—I mean, I guess I was kind of dirty talking to him, I don't even know, I just told him I wanted to give him a blowjob again—"

Nina let out a laugh, and Holly snorted.

"—and the next thing I knew, he was," Jenny trailed off. "I told him to stop, and he did, and that's when Dad barged in," she revealed in a rush. "It was this huge fight, and I was already freaking out because it happened so fast, and I couldn't figure out how I felt…"

Holly nodded, and Nina handed Jenny her cider.

"I didn't even want to have sex that day," Jenny said, absurdly. "It was just…happening."

Nina shrugged.

"I think it happens like that a lot," she said simply. "We like to think we're smarter than girls who say that, who say it when they're explaining accidental pregnancies, but there is something to the heat of the moment."

Holly nodded, agreeing with Nina's assessment, and Jenny sighed, leaning against the bed. She looked at Nina, and then looked up at Holly—and on the screen, one of the_ Sex and the City_ characters engaged in a wild sex scene, and Jenny laughed. She shook her head, and lunged forward, reaching for some of Nina's stage make-up—she wanted to test new lipsticks.

"It stresses me out," she admitted bluntly. "I don't want to talk about it," she said with a shrug.

Nina nodded—she understood implicitly; Jenny had a tendency to dislike really dissecting her thoughts with anyone other than herself. Holly accepted the decision with a nod, and then lifted her mug to her lips and drowned half of it, surveying the scene.

"This is a _damn_ dramatic start to summit," Holly said, hopping off her bed and coming to bug Nina to do her nails. She clicked her tongue: "Sex, break-ups, nosy Colonels!"

She laughed into her cider, and Jenny rolled her eyes at her—she relished this night with her friends, because Holly and Nina reminded her that they all had serious decisions to deal with at this point in their lives, and she was justified in being both stressed and excited over the prospect of hers—and she let herself forget about the complexities of Gibbs and sex for the night, because she was, for a moment, thinking she was the Jenny who wasn't quite ready for it—and she realized the solution to it all was she needed to talk to him about it—instead of confusing them both with actions taken in moments of passion.

* * *

_~~feedback appreciated yo~~_

_-alexandra_


	14. The Ubiquitous They

_A/N:__ The conversation between Gibbs & Jenny at the end of this chapter is my absolute favorite of the whole story. It was also the second bit I ever wrote - it sat patiently on my iPhone until I got to this chapter! :) - and actual, the scene between Nina & Jenny was written absolutely first, quite a few years ago - when I'd just written 'Good Girls Go Marine' and ACD was just a mild thought in the back of my mind :D _

_Chapter Twelve_

_The Ubiquitous They _

* * *

Jenny bit her lip and ran her nail around her lips, correcting her smeared lipstick, and trying to keep from laughing. Standing next to her, Gibbs placed a wet paper towel on a thin red scrape that ran from her eyebrow into her hairline, cleaning small flecks of blood out of the cut. He tossed the paper towel into the sink and then glared down as he felt the kitten weave in-between his ankles.

He shooed him away testily and Jenny flung her hand out and slapped him in the chest, shooting him a glare.

"Don't kick him," she admonished.

"I didn't kick 'im, I nudged him," Gibbs retorted loudly, looking sheepishly at the long, thin cut on her face. "You need a band aid?"

She reached out and gingerly ran her finger along the cut, pressing on it.

"Is it bleeding still?"

He shook his head.

"Nah," he muttered, reaching out to cup her chin and examine the cut himself. "It's a little swollen, though," he growled, shooting a murderous glare at the kitten again.

She shrugged.

"Cat scratches can be a little nasty," she said logically. She gently pushed his hand away and ran her fingers over the cut one last time. "It doesn't hurt," she lied—it was a little sore. She smirked wryly. "I look like a badass, right?" she asked, holding up her hands like kitty-claws. "Hell, maybe I'll get cat scratch fever."

He arched a brow, flicking her hands down casually.

"That a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Dunno, I could never figure out if it was a sex fever or a pissed off fever," Jenny answered, laughing.

She bent down and scooped Banquo up into her arms, ignoring his little hiss of annoyance. He swatted at her playfully, and she puckered her lips, avoiding the claws expertly and kissing his face.

"He didn't mean to hurt me," she cooed.

"Told you he was a little shit," Gibbs growled.

"Aw," Jenny murmured, giggling as Banquo scrambled up her chest, and then leapt onto the counter and prowled over to better access Gibbs—he started to rub his nose and ears all over Gibbs' shirt. "He _loves_ you."

Gibbs glared at the unruly kitten—mad that he'd scratched up Jenny's face, and annoyed that he'd interrupted them. He refused to scratch him between the ears, and Banquo meowed at him obnoxiously. Jenny giggled, and when he looked over at her, she flushed and slipped past him to get a snack out of the cabinet. It was on of their typical Saturday nights, although they hadn't gone out this weekend—she'd come over to do some studying here after work, and he hadn't gotten home from his schooling on base until six. He'd brought Chinese, and they had just been—hanging out.

The cat meowed insistently again.

"Pet him, Jethro!"

"No," growled Gibbs stubbornly. "Your dad's gonna shoot me when he sees that scratch on your face."

Jenny rolled her eyes.

"He'll know it's the cat," she placated. "He's seen your nails, he knows you can't scratch like that." She opened a bag of potato chips and turned to Gibbs, arching one eyebrow with another blush. "He was just protecting you," she soothed, wrinkling her nose.

"I didn't need to be protected," groused Gibbs, ignoring the kitten's insistent demands for attention.

Jenny compressed her lips and swept the kitten into her hand, taking him and her potato chips back into the living room. She let Banquo down on the coffee table, watching him paw curiously at her car keys, and she settled down on the couch. It took Gibbs a moment to join her, and he sat down further away than usual, leaning forward on his knees, focusing pointedly on the movie. Jenny took a deep breath and held it, pushing her hand through her hair. She glanced over at him, at his profile—and then her eyes flicked down to his groin, where she could clearly see he was struggling. She bit her lip and looked at the movie, making sure her hair fell so it could cover her face a little.

She had been—bored with the old John Wayne movie Gibbs insisted was cinematic perfection, and she had been—going down on him when the kitten had decided she was a threat to Gibbs' well-being and pounced on her head, catching her pretty gruesomely near the eye with his claws.

The ensuing chaos had been so absurd she could only laugh—it was amusing that Gibbs was so distracted he didn't realized she'd stopped and leapt up until he realized his hand was suddenly on the cat and not Jenny's neck. Then he'd nearly thrown the cat across the room when he saw her clutching the scratch on her face and—

Well.

Jenny crunched into another potato chip and brushed her fingers across her lips, concentrating on the snack—she didn't really know how to resume, and the mood was definitely killed, so she leaned back and settled down, curling up on the couch, and watching the movie vaguely—mostly watching him as he sat stiffly and stared at it.

Gibbs rubbed his jaw, and she tilted her head, the movie seeming very loud. He looked back at her when he sensed he watching him.

"You okay?" he asked gruffly.

She nodded slowly, biting down sharply on another potato chip.

He made an indecipherable noise and leaned back, slouching against the couch. She reached out and ran a hand over his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. She swallowed her mouthful, trying to think of what she should do—poor Gibbs, he was so frustrated now, she felt bad just leaving him all riled up like that.

She turned her head to the movie, just as John Wayne, perched atop a regal horse, turned and said:

"_Never apologize. It's a sign of weakness."_

Jenny made an indignant squawking noise and glared at Gibbs.

"You plagiarized John Wayne," she accused, remembering that he'd said that to her when she was trying to repair the damage her father's icy water incident had done.

Gibbs' jaw twitched into a smirk, but his eyes looked guarded—and she wondered if it had been a bad idea to bring that up. His first three weeks of sniper training school had been pretty brutal, though he'd handled it stoically and hadn't taken it out on her, but she knew he was getting steadily less tolerant of how little he got to see her, and she knew it was bothering him that she'd gotten so skittish on the physical stuff since the Colonel had interrupted them.

"Jethro," she muttered, running her hand over his shoulder again soothingly. "You want me to finish?" she asked, arching her eyebrows suggestively.

She happened to put another potato chip in her mouth at that point, and he looked over, and then laughed, shaking his head at the bag in her hands—she looked down and rolled her eyes, flushing a little. She rolled her eyes and shifted again, crawling closer to him and placing herself against his side, so she could rest one curled up leg on his thighs and her head on his chest.

"I'll pay attention to your movie now," she whispered conspiratorially—considering her attempt to distract him from it last time had ended in a kittenish disaster.

His arm fell around her lightly and he maneuvered it so he could move her sweater—and the heavy flannel shirt he'd given her from his closet, because she said she was cold in his apartment—up and rest his palm under their clothes on her bare ribs. She smiled—his hand was warm, and it seemed to permeate her skin and make her much warmer all over.

She got as comfortable as possible, which included moving her leg closer to his groin, and she did not miss him pointedly moving her leg as far away from that area as possible—she clenched her teeth so she wouldn't laugh at him. For a split second, she kind of liked that she was making him so crazy, until he ran a hand over his jaw and his hand moved under her shirt, clutching her ribs in a way that tickled her and got her attention.

She was mid potato chip when he asked—

"You want to have sex?"

-in a particularly spectacular expression of her naiveté, she started choking on her potato chip.

He calmly thumped her on the back, sliding is hand around and hitting her gently to snap her out of it. His hands rasped against her bra strap as he did it, and she ducked her head, hoping he didn't notice how red her cheeks had gotten. She recovered quickly, but she couldn't think of anything to say except—

"Right _now_?"

She pulled back a little, and his hand slid off her back and lazily to her hip. She twisted the bag of chips closed between them, her eyebrows up, her eyes wide and a little uncertain.

He arched a brow.

"No," he drawled—and then seemed to catch himself. "Unless you want to, right now," he added seriously—and she couldn't tell if it was one of his deadpan jokes, or if he was dead serious.

Both—probably both, she figured.

She looked over at the movie, and then looked at the kitten—happily playing with her car keys.

"I doubt Banquo would put up with it," she said weakly.

"I didn't ask Banquo," he retorted bluntly.

She swallowed, and reached up to push her hair back, tangling her fingers in her hair. She cocked her eyebrow wryly.

"Thankfully," she said dryly. "I'd be less likely to sleep with you if your sexual proclivities included kittens."

He glared at her, almost apprehensively—_definitely_ warily, and she bit her lip, giving him an apologetic look—she was sorry she was so clearly reacting badly, and she was sorry she had no experience, but she didn't want to tell him that, exactly.

"Jen," he said seriously.

She let her hair go and let her hand fall into her lap. The bag of chips crinkled loudly, and Banquo looked over with kittenish interest. Jenny's eyes fell to Gibbs' lips, and she decided to focus there.

"Jethro," she sighed, and then she abruptly caught his eye and narrowed her eyes. "Don't ask me things like that when I'm eating potato chips," she said—it was a cruel deflection, almost too cold, but it was what she chose—and he raised his eyebrows somewhere between amused and frustrated.

She took the chips and got up, bundling them so they wouldn't get stale and returning them to their place. She stood in the kitchen for a moment, her arms braced behind her on the counter, and he appeared in the doorway a moment later.

"You're not eatin' chips now," he pointed out simply.

She nodded, shrugged, and tossed her head, blowing hair out of her face. She took her hands off the counter and ran them over her pants, pressing her fingertips into her thighs.

"Yes," she said in a small voice.

"Yes?" he repeated, his brows going up. "What?" he tried to clarify.

"I don't know," she murmured, crossing her arms across her chest.

He stared at her, confused—and then he clamped his mouth shut, set his jaw, and swallowed hard. She didn't like that look on his face, so she tugged at the sleeves of his flannel shirt—the one she liked so much, she planned on taking home with her tonight. She looped her fingers into the rubber Army bracelet she always wore and held onto it, seeking comfort. She must have stared at her bracelet too long, because he stepped forward.

"Jen," he said gruffly. "I'm not," he paused. "Jesus, Jen, I can't figure out when I'm pushin' too hard and when I'm not," he said flatly. "You won't tell me—"

"I know," she interrupted. "I know," she mumbled.

"I don't want to be the guy—"

"I know," she said again, refusing to let him finish. "I know," she kept saying, and she held up her hands when he came closer, biting the inside of her cheek hard. "I don't feel like you're pushing me, Jethro," she said tensely. "I _tell_ you to stop when—"

"One time," he broke in gruffly. "You told me to stop once, 'cause of your Dad, but you don't stop me we just…stop—"

She furrowed her brow—she didn't know what to say to that, because he was right; she'd stopped them from having sex in the window seat in her bedroom, but other than that—other events had always interceded.

She sucked in her breath and parted her lips, her eyes stinging, and she realized with horror that she was going to cry. She brought a hand up to her mouth and ran her fingers over her lips, tilting her head up. She licked her lips and pushed her hand through her hair, and she opened her mouth to answer him—

"I _wanted_ to do it in my bedroom, I just," she couldn't keep her voice from cracking, and he stepped closer, resting his hands on her shoulders, looking apprehensive.

"Jen," he muttered guiltily. "Dammit," he swore, his shoulders slumping. "Jen, don't cry."

"I'm not crying," she retorted belligerently, but swiped at her eyes anyway. "I don't want you to be mad at me," she admitted suddenly, and then clamped her teeth together, because she was so unbelievably angry with herself for saying something so stupid and insecure.

He slid his hands over her shoulders and pressed his fingers gently into the nape of her neck, shaking his head. His forehead touched hers.

"'M not _mad_, Jen," he sighed gruffly, frustration evident in his muscles. "You need to tell me what you want," he murmured bluntly.

She lowered her head, shrugging her shoulders. Her hair fell into her eyes and she let him hold her for a moment, and then she sucked it all up—swallowed, blinked, set her shoulders, and slipped away from him.

"I know," she said shortly, angry with herself. "I can't—I can't think straight right now," she said simply. "I—I'm going to go home."

"Jenny," he protested, exasperated.

She shook her head and tossed her hair back, taking her coat from the back of the couch and pulling it on over her sweater, and his flannel, and zipping it up. She pulled on her rain boots –it was pouring outside—and she fumbled for her leather gloves, and gathered her phone and her wristlet—and then she bent to kiss Banquo and took her keys from the playful kitten. She felt shaky and stupid, and very young, and she wanted to be alone so she could sort out her thoughts.

He followed her to the door, and caught her arm gently. He turned her towards him, reaching to get the apartment door for her. He didn't know how to say what was going on in his head; he just stared at her, trying to convey it. He hadn't meant to upset her, he hadn't thought he would scare her or make her cry—he wanted her badly; he missed sex, he liked her, and asking her for it—he wanted her to know he wasn't being a dick or going after just _that_ something, he just _wanted_ her that way, and he wanted it to flatter her, not make her uncomfortable or upset.

He also knew he wouldn't get to see her until next weekend—

She lunged forward suddenly and kissed him, really hard, and really earnestly, so he concentrated on that and pressed her lightly against the doorframe, still holding the door open loosely. Her hands moved over his neck, and then through his short hair, and she didn't stop kissing him until she absolutely had to breathe—and then she smiled a little uncertainly, apologetically.

He nodded, understanding a little, and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, opening the door a little wider.

She didn't say anything else, but at least he was convinced she wasn't pissed off at him, and he stood there with the door open until he heard her leave the apartment complex—and then he shut the door, leaned against it, and sank down to the floor, rubbing his jaw tensely.

Banquo scampered over and meowed at him innocently—and he spared a mean, fearsome glare for the little kitten.

* * *

With a mountain of AP History work in front of her, Jenny rubbed her forehead and rolled over onto her back, groaning and staring up at the ceiling. Her long hair tumbled off the bed, and Nina tugged on it wryly, sort of reminding her to plow through the homework.

The redhead, however, had other things on her mind—and she'd been considerably occupied with them since Saturday night. She grabbed her textbook and held it over her head, flipping casually through the section on the United States' World War II hypocrisies.

Nina sensed her unrest, and tugged on her hair again.

"What's bothering you, Jenny?" she asked simply—Jenny was usually so fascinated by history studies that she absorbed herself in her homework right when they started.

Jenny didn't answer right away. She instead chose to relish the silence of Nina waiting to see if she was going to strike up a conversation. She glared at some photographs, and then she tossed the book aside and made a scoffing noise.

"Do you think I should have sex with Jethro?" she asked blithely, shattering the silence.

Nina dropped the pencil she'd been tapping her lip with, startled, and stared at Jenny's waterfall of red hair, slightly scandalized—Nina was a girl who preferred conversations about sex to take place in a context that was _not_ reserved for homework. And since they had decided to begin shoring up study guides for the AP exams in May, she was a little taken aback to have Jenny interrupted her beloved study time with it—

"Have you considered it might be more pertinent for you to have sex with the AP exam?" she joked dryly.

Jenny arched an eyebrow. She shrugged, and picked up a pencil, balancing it in her palm, still laying on her back next to a mountain of AP history on Nina's bed.

"What do you mean 'should' anyway?" Nina asked suspiciously, after taking a moment to re-orient her Chemistry-focused brain.

"I mean, he asked me," Jenny muttered. "The question is no longer theoretical."

"He asked if you _should_ have sex? Shouldn't he ask if you _want_ to have sex—with him?"

Jenny paused, curling up her hand and clutching her pencil, and then she tilted her neck back further, looking at Nina upside down.

"I am not sure how he phrased it. I was distracted."

"What were you doing?"

"I was eating some chips."

Nina gave her a withering look.

"So, what, he saw you eating some chips, and he just asked you to have sex?"

Jenny looked frustrated.

"No, we had been fooling around, and the kitten interrupted, and then he was frustrated, and I was distracted—I was eating the chips, and the crunching was really loud."

"And then?" Nina prompted.

"And then he asked me, and I choked."

Nina laughed, tilting her head back in disbelief. Jenny tried to glare at her, but Nina only laughed harder—Jenny glaring upside down was not particularly sobering.

"Well, then what did you say, Jenny?" Nina asked, as if interviewing a disgraced politician.

"I told him not to ask me that while I was eating chips," Jenny retorted bluntly. She frowned, and then quickly rolled over and shifted, propping herself up on her arms and tilting her head so all of her hair fell to one side.

Nina stared at her, and Jenny shrugged.

"He didn't—exactly ask again," she muttered. "Not in so many words—look, no, he didn't ask if we should, that's me, projecting…he asked if I wanted to; I am the one who thinks it's a matter of should or shouldn't."

"So it's a question of morality for you, and a question of desire for him," Nina proposed.

"Morality?" Jenny repeated, trying the word. She grunted and grabbed the ends of her hair, pulling on it tightly. She tried to make sense of it—was it morality? She shook her head. "No, I mean—I've never thought I'd be a virgin when I got married…I don't even think about marriage, or boyfriends," Jenny said, annoyed. "Remember?"

Nina nodded.

"It wasn't within the purview of our reality," she pointed out. "Now—it is," she said frankly.

"Meaning, now I have to make all of these definitive decisions on what I want and what I believe in," Jenny groaned, closing her eyes.

Nina pushed herself up from her prostrate position on the floor and sat up, crossing her legs. She began pushing her long, dark hair up, and tying it into a knotted, messy bun, and then she slouched and looked intently at her friend, choosing her words carefully.

"Jenny," she began matter-of-factly. "Do you want to have sex with him? Excluding any logical conundrums and considering the question emotionally or physically: what is the answer?"

Jenny blinked.

"Yes," she said.

She raised her eyebrows, and pursed her lips.

"That was easy," she remarked.

Nina inclined her head, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ears. She spread her hands out and turned her palms up. Jenny chewed on her lip a moment and then frowned, holding one hand out tensely.

"I—of _course_ I _want_ to have sex with him," she said. "Have you seen him? He's—he's hot as hell, and I like him, and I," she blushed, "well, I get the impression he's probably really good at it," she confessed.

"Okay; now: what are the things that are conflicting with that desire?" Nina prompted.

Jenny pulled on her hair again.

She didn't know where to start—it was absolutely nothing, and then a whole lot of everything at once. She mulled it over slowly, thinking about what he'd said—he was at a loss, and he wanted to know what she wanted, and she needed to figure that out herself—

"Nina," she said softly. "If I act on feeling alone, that's idiotic," she said quietly, and that was probably the root of her problem—she very much valued thought, and educated and logical choice. "If I think it through I…well, that ruins something emotional," she analyzed. "I am—I am…my Dad might find out, and think of me differently, or I might…get pregnant," she sighed.

"It's practical to consider consequences like pregnancy," Nina said. "Acting on what feels right is not idiotic unless you had no practical thought at all, and it's very possible to act practically and emotionally—and your Dad…Jenny," she sighed. "He's your rock, and your hero but…he can't expect you to be on a purity pedestal forever...and he doesn't seem like kind of father who'd act like you were a ruined slut, but at the same time—it isn't his relationship, or his life."

Jenny, still frowning thoughtfully, remained still, listening to Nina so intently, thinking about what she'd said—and she knew she'd never truly shake the part of her that always wanted to be perfect, and impress her father, but Nina was right; this was her life, and her relationship—and on that note, she now knew her father wouldn't morph into some ultra-conservative maniac if she _did_ have sex—

"Am I too young?" Jenny asked, exasperated. "I don't know if I'm mature enough…I don't have any experience, but if I don't have the experience, I'll never know—but I don't want to regret it," she said. "I don't want to do it, and then think it was the biggest mistake—that's daunting."

"So, you're scared."

"I know he'd be nice to me," Jenny said. "I wonder—how long I could push him before he just wants a girl who's his age, and who isn't so neurotic about fucking him—"

"Gibbs has had eyes for only you for half a year, don't even factor that in," scoffed Nina. "Jenny…I think we're all too young for sex until we have it," she sighed. "I…I can't have sex until I set my thoughts straight on how I feel about sexual health, and my own religious morality—which I have, even though my parents tried to make me an atheist. I can't even fathom…having to consider it, okay? I do think I'm too young, because I still," she paused.

Jenny tangled her fingers in her hair.

"It's arbitrary, then," she asked slowly. "You think?"

"At a certain point, it becomes arbitrary," Nina said, with a shrug. "I mean, do I think fifteen-year-olds should be fucking around? No. Do I think eighteen year olds should be sleeping with fourteen-year-olds? No. And those things—to me, they aren't arguable. But he's an adult, and you're almost an adult, and you two—I mean you trust him, you care about him."

"Yes."

"I don't know," Nina said, feeling a little frustrated.

"I," Jenny began. "I just—I think sex is a big deal, and I don't know if he does, and I know it will—make me feel different, and it will add a mature dynamic to the relationship that he—well, obviously he can handle, but what if I can't?" Jenny made a frustrated look and groaned. "It's like—it's like I've been a virgin for so long, and it's such a fact that I don't have sex, that I don't know how to—not be a virgin! It's like losing a superpower!"

Nina laughed—and Jenny did too, breathlessly, glad to sort of put it into words, finally.

Nina pursed her lips and shrugged.

"You should deconstruct that notion, though—you aren't _losing_ it, I like to think you'd be gaining a really intimate connection with him—ah, but Jenny, I have such idealistic beliefs about sex—"

"_Me too_, Nina—"

"I think you should talk to Holly," the brunette said frankly. "She just—look, she's been there. I know you think she's flippant and what not, but she may have actually felt this way, and she doesn't just think as much as you until _after_."

Jenny chewed on her lip.

"Okay," she said slowly. "Nina, I like talking to you."

"I'm not saying I don't want to hear it!" Nina said quickly.

"I'm trying to make sure you don't feel—left out," Jenny went on. "You know, I always felt so alienated when Holly would talk about stuff we couldn't relate to, and act like we were naïve—"

"Yeah, I know," Nina said. "And she knows that now, and she did do that to us after she slept with Mark, and she and Kensi were so close because Kensi had just slept with that guy, what was her boyfriend's name?"

"I don't remember, we all just called him Deeks—"

"Well, anyway; I appreciate it," Nina said. "And I do want to hear about this stuff, I like talking to you—but I can listen; Holly can advise. You know how we are, Jenny—we have books, and movies, and we're smart, and I think you're realizing—and I'll realize it, someday, that everything we constructed concerning how _it_ was supposed to happen and what not is complete bullshit when real life is happening."

Jenny looked at her intently, and Nina shrugged.

"Holly has never lived in books; she's always lived in life. Like I said—she can actually give advice, whereas I am only capable of looking at it objectively."

"And I need both," Jenny said slowly.

Nina pointed her pencil at her wryly, and smirked.

"There's a reason we kept that cheerleading slut around," she joked—and Jenny laughed with relief, suddenly anxious to hear Holly's opinions—because Jenny was a young woman bogged down in practicality and logic, and sometimes she needed a friend who lived directly in the moment.

* * *

Holly leaned back in her chair, covering her mouth and laughing hysterically through a mouthful of pasta—when she had composed herself and swallowed, she lunged back forward.

"Hold on—so the kitty actually jumped on your hair—"

"Yes," Jenny said solemnly.

"_While_ you were—"

"Yes, he was in my mouth," Jenny confirmed. "He, I—I thought it was him, for a minute, there was this insane yanking on my hair, and I was like 'um, okay, Jethro, like, calm down' only then the claw went across my forehead and I know he wouldn't hurt me—he doesn't even shove my head down," she explained in a hushed tone, "and I swear—I felt so bad, I think he was about to—"

Holly burst into raucous laughter.

"—and I just leapt up, swearing, and he sat there for a minute," she trailed off, closing her eyes at the memory.

Holly kept giggling, taking a long drink of her sweet tea to try and calm down.

"I'm dying—that's the best," she choked out. "I—like, actual best story," she complimented. "And you even have a battle scar; that's so fuckin' cute—did you finish him off?"

"No," moaned Jenny, exasperated. She flung her fork out tensely. "I told you, that's why I think he was so frustrated, and he just asked the sex question—"

"The actual topic of our dinner," Holly said loftily, spreading her hands dramatically over their meals.

Jenny nodded and sat back, shaking her head and chewing thoughtfully. She and Holly had decided to meet for dinner before they went to a movie with Nina and a few other girls from school. Jenny wanted to act on Nina's recommendation that she talk to Holly—and she wanted to act before the weekend, because she knew she'd want to see Gibbs again.

She arched a brow at Holly.

"What's the worst that ever happened to you?"

"Oh, it wasn't that bad," Holly sighed airily, leaning forward. "Like, if we're talking about blowjobs, well, one time Mark jerked his knee when he came, and he kneed me right in the ribs, so that startled me so…I possibly _might_ have spit it all over him."

Jenny threw her head back and laughed, genuinely shocked into laughter. She covered her mouth, and then composed herself, shooting Holly a wry look.

"That could be avoided if you'd swallow."

"Not all of us are as brave as you, Jenny," simpered Holly.

"Literally every single thing I read said they think it's sexy if you swallow," Jenny retorted in a hiss.

"Not all of us _researched technique online_ before going down, JENNY," retorted Holly, rolling her eyes good-naturedly.

"Hmm," Jenny said primly, swirling pasta noodles around her fork. "It served me well, that research," she sniffed. "I'll be doing the same if—when—um," she faltered, and then raised her eyebrows at herself.

"That, though, that's probably good," Holly said, eyes wide. "I fuckin' wish I had looked up some things—like I told you, I just had him pull out? Well, newsflash, that doesn't matter, because there's other stuff besides semen that has sperm in it."

"Ew, I am eating," Jenny hissed at her.

"Well, considering you're the only person at this table who has swallowed semen, I didn't think you were squeamish," Holly fired back smoothly.

Jenny blushed and raised her eyes to the ceiling, praying teasingly for help. She was still getting used to conversations with Holly that were this open and honest—because she'd always been so resentful of them before. Holly giggled at the look on her face and focused on her food for a minute, preening over her triumph. After a moment, she looked up seriously.

"I am really lucky I didn't get pregnant," she reflected. "It's just that-_pure_ luck."

Jenny nodded at her, eyes wide.

"That's the kind of thing I'm worried about," she said frankly. "Like, come on, there's only one way to not get pregnant with 100% accuracy, and that's abstinence."

"Unfortunately, abstinence is also the only way you 100% don't get fucked," Holly said seriously.

Jenny snorted.

"Which is what we're concerned with here," Holly went on primly. "Jenny Shepard getting fucked."

"H-_OLLY_."

"Getting made love to?"

"I _hate_ you."

Holly laughed. Jenny covered her eyes for a moment, and then peeked out. She decided to joke a little in return and turned her nose up.

"I prefer to call it having my maiden's flower plucked."

"I am leaving you alone in this restaurant right now," Holly retorted, horrified, going so far as to reach for her keys.

Jenny gave her a wry smile, and Holly kicked her for her troubles.

"Regardless of what we're calling the unholy act," the cheerleader said dramatically, holding up her fork. "I'm glad you wanted my advice," she said, a blushing a little.

Jenny shrugged.

"You're right, Holly. I was so…intimidated by everything you were doing—"

"When you thought you were smarter, so you should be doing it first," Holly added pointedly.

"—yes, that," Jenny admitted, rolling her eyes. "I didn't realize you were basically the biggest source of information."

Holly nodded primly.

"You may capitalize on me now," she offered majestically.

Jenny tilted her head.

"Well—I sort of told it all to you, what Nina said, all that—"

"Okay," Holly said, twirling her own fork in her food. "Then look, I'll be honest about my first time—I didn't think at all, other than 'I have a boyfriend, there is country music playing, we are in a car, we have sex now, and I think I'm supposed to like it' – that was literally it, and then afterwards, I was so confused, and stuff, and Mark and I were like—we kept doing it, because we thought we had to, all the time, after we did it once," she began to explain. "Then, we fought a lot, and we almost broke up—all because the sex was awful, and I hated it, and I don't think he liked it either, but at the same time, even when it's bad for guys, they still come—so, he wasn't saying anything…but like, everything else we did was great, like when we made out, or I went down on him, or he fingered me," she was speaking quietly, and Jenny listened attentively.

Holly took a deep breath, and reached for some of the leftover bread. She shrugged faintly.

"We almost broke up, until I finally was like—look, Mark, can we talk about the sex? It ruined everything? And we had this long talk, about how I thought we went way too fast, and we had no idea what the fuck we were doing, and he was appalled that he'd hurt me in anyway, and I just realized that—like all of that talking, it should have happened _before_ we had sex, and instead we had to build more intimacy on a relationship that already had the sex element, and in the meantime, oh yeah, we were—still are—in high school and still have no idea what we're doing in our own lives, much less with sex added to it," she explained, almost breathlessly. "So, you're kind of right—I didn't think, I never thought until after, and I was not ready when I had sex, and it doesn't matter because _now_ Mark and I are so close, and we laugh about everything that happens and talk about it—but yeah, I should have thought more—so I'm saying, don't feel guilty or stupid because you're thinking about it, okay?"

Jenny nodded.

She leaned forward, absorbed in what Holly was saying.

"You don't think I'm being—ridiculous?"

"It's not crazy to want to make sure he's the right guy!" Holly said emphatically. "I mean—Jenny, you're always going to be more thoughtful and careful than I am, and I'm always going to think that you ruin the fun half the time because of your pro-con, self-preservation way of thinking—"

"I just—don't want to make stupid mistakes—"

"Yes, I know, and I think that's so admirable, because you don't; you've only made like, one, and it broke your heart into a thousand pieces—that night you were out drinking with us, and your Dad got so mad," Holly said. "But also, you have to let go a little; mistakes are going to happen, and not letting yourself take steps that might result in them is just as bad as not thinking at all."

"I get that," Jenny said slowly. "So—but I mean, I'm still conflicted about the sex thing," she said emphatically.

"You want to have sex with him?"

"I think—that I can answer," Jenny said. "Yes, I mean—I don't want a relationship with no sex, I just don't know when—"

"_I_ can't tell you when," Holly said firmly. "_You_ have to decide when _you_ are ready. But you need to let Gibbs know that's where you are—that you're not sure yet. It's just going to be the elephant in the room if you don't, and if he doesn't know what's going on, he'll get distant and—ugh, it will disintegrate," Holly guessed—and Jenny felt she was right.

"He said that," Jenny admitted softly. "He said he wanted to know what I wanted and he—he looked so fucking miserable, I felt _so_ bad—"

"See? You're both just making each other feel guilty," Holly said, "and then, you're going to start blaming him, or vice versa…and that's not fair," she went on. "Jenny…you're so smart, you're so thoughtful, you really know yourself and I think…I think that you are going to be happy when you have sex with him—haha, I'm saying when because you're totally gonna fuck that boy, Jenny, I can see it in your eyes—but really," Holly said earnestly. "You're different than me. I don't think you'll regret it."

Jenny smiled faintly—Holly's words made her feel so much better, and she felt like she could get a better handle on her thoughts now.

Holly smiled at her, and leaned back matter-of-factly.

"What's the overall theme of your advice?" Jenny asked pragmatically, and Holly giggled at her terminology, rolling her eyes affectionately.

"You need to go on birth control," Holly said simply. "That way—you can rest in peace on that front, and when you decide you want to let it happen, you can really just _let_ it happen, with safety—and no slimy condoms," Holly paused. "If you use birth control right, you won't get pregnant," she said frankly. "I use mine relentlessly, and I've never even had a scare. But that means—you have to talk to Gibbs about his history—not his number, just make sure he's not…got an STD," she said.

Jenny made a face; she grimaced. She didn't want to probe Gibbs' personal life—but Holly was definitely right, and Jenny was already leery of the idea of condoms, which was why she'd originally ask Holly about birth control.

"That will be an awkward conversation," she muttered.

"Yeah—so have it _first_," Holly said dryly. She leaned forward, her eyes taking on an earnest look. "Jenny," she said.

Jenny raised her brows.

"Hol?"

"I love Mark," she said. "I love sleeping with him—it's so good now," she said seriously. "But when I said—I told you once that I miss just making out? I do, sometimes, even though the sex is—fucking incredible," she said. "It might not be bad to just…value the uncomplicated for a little while longer."

Jenny let that sink in, and then her lips quirked up in a smile.

"Value the uncomplicated—and talk about it," she said, savoring the words.

Holly pursed her lips in encouragement, and Jenny reached for her phone on instinct, checking her messages. There, on the iPhone's touch screen, was a recent message from Gibbs—a photo of Banquo, once again refusing to get off of him while he was trying to do something.

Jenny laughed, and leaned forward to show the picture to Holly.

"And, ah—we have to convince the kitten human sexual activity isn't actually a violent attack on his beloved Gibbs."

Holly burst into laughter, and Jenny felt—impossibly better about everything.

* * *

Frustrated out of his mind, Gibbs yanked a second pillow over to him and shoved it between his knees, trying somehow to get comfortable—he'd finally gotten to sleep, only to have a dream about Jenny staying the night—and doing nothing more than sleeping next to him, and yet that was so simplistically desirable to him that he was literally too aroused to even attempt to fall back asleep.

He'd spoken to her as usual during the week, at night after he got home from sniper training school—exhausted and irritable as he was, he managed to keep his cool and refrain from snapping at her, because she always gave as good as she got when he did, and he never liked being mean to her, anyway. She was acting completely normally, even though he could, just by her voice, tell there was something simmering under the surface—and it frustrated him all the more, because he was legitimately worried he'd spooked her so badly she was going to decide he was too old for her.

He was too far gone over her to be able to handle that.

He rolled over in bed again, and Banquo pounced on his legs. He shook the kitten off with a glare and rolled back over—only to be pounced on again. This time, when he shook Jenny's kitten off, Banquo scampered up his side and curled up on his neck.

Gibbs groaned, and shifted, sitting up and reaching for his beaten up old cell phone—it was early; he usually went to bed after dinner, half a book, and a shower, because training was taking all of his energy, and he had to be up at four half the time to be there. It was a school evening, but Jenny never minded if one of his calls woke her up, and he thought the sound of her voice might make it easier to sleep—no, on second thought, then he'd just start thinking about how sexy her voice was—

He was about to throw his phone across the room when it started lighting up and ringing. He glared at it suspiciously, wondering for a moment if she had somehow sensed his distress—and then he noticed Vance's number, and he rubbed his jaw, pulled the kitten off his neck, and answered.

"Gibbs," he grunted, placing Banquo firmly on the bed next to him.

He swatted his fingers gently in the kitten's face, and Banquo played with him, meowing appreciatively.

"Bro," Vance said loudly, without wasting a minute. "You know my wife's hangin' out with your girl tomorrow?" he demanded.

Gibbs frowned, still glaring at the cat.

"Yeah," he growled. "She mentioned it. Ice skatin'."

"What the hell is that about?" Leon demanded, paranoid.

"You won't take your wife ice skatin'," retorted Gibbs pointedly.

"So she steps out on me with _your_ girlfriend?" Vance demanded.

"Jen's a hell of a lot better lookin' than you," Gibbs pointed out seriously.

"This is bad, Gibbs," Leon went on dryly. "Bad, bad—Jackie's gonna tell stories to Jenny, Jenny's gonna start confidin' in Jackie—man, look, we can't let 'em hang out all night, we gotta interrupt their little lady date half-way through—"

Gibbs rolled his eyes. Banquo scratched him, and Gibbs bared his teeth at him, listening to Leon rant and rave.

"C'mon, Gibbs—two of 'em are gonna start swappin' sex stories!" Vance whined, outraged.

Gibbs snorted derisively.

"Then I ain't got nothin' to worry about," he said bluntly, and snapped his phone shut.

He threw it aside—Banquo promptly chased it and began patting it with his paws—and lay on his back for a good ten seconds before he got up and stormed into the bathroom for a cold shower.

* * *

Even though she and Jackie had sat down for coffee twice since New Year's Eve, Jenny was still apprehensive about spending an afternoon ice skating with the older girl—and it turned out she needn't have worried. Jackie was friendly—she was much more receptive to Jenny of late, since she seemed to have decided Gibbs was serious about her, and it wasn't Jenny's fault if Gibbs did something stupid.

Jenny had always liked Jackie—she thought she was confident, smart, and she liked that Jackie had sort of—taken care of Gibbs when he was single and had no family to bum around with.

It was sunny and bright—even if it was snowy and bitterly cold—on the Saturday they went to the outdoor rink in Alexandria, and Jackie turned out to be particularly talented at figure eights—which Jenny demanded she teach her, and Jackie took the better part of the day acting like a drill sergeant while Jenny fell on her ass.

"I give—I am fucking done," Jenny cried, laughing good-naturedly as Jackie swept over gracefully and helped her up, snorting with laughter herself. Jenny bent forward in a low bow. "You're the Ice Skating queen," she said dramatically.

"You almost had it, girl," Jackie said wryly.

"How did you learn all this? I swear," Jenny began, glowering playfully.

"Ballet," Jackie said. "So many years of ballet—dancing used to be the only thing that made me happy," she said seriously. "I had a shitty mother and my father worked too much to give a damn about me much, but dancin', that was somethin'."

"You don't dance anymore?"

"Naw, don't have time," Jackie said frankly. "Doesn't matter, though; now Leon and nursing make me happy," she said frankly. "I like takin' care of other people, 'cause no one really took care of me."

Jenny smiled at her—it was such a positive philosophy.

"You spend a lot of time takin' care of Leon?"

"Hell, yeah, why do you think we don't have kids?" Jackie snorted, twirling around on her skates and then skatin' over to the wall of the rink. "I'd never have time for 'em, 'cause Leon's such a big baby."

She leaned against the wall, pushing her hair back, and Jenny skated over, adjusting her own warm, furry headband.

"And I'm too young," Jackie said a little uncertainly.

Jenny shrugged, flexing her fingers in her gloves, trying to keep warm.

"But you guys want kids?"

"Definitely," Jackie said brightly, shrugging, she turned her head and looked at Jenny. "You want some, later on?" she asked.

Jenny shrugged.

"Never thought about it," she said, and then grinned. "Definitely not now," she laughed.

"Lord," swore Jackie, putting her hand to her heart. "Don't even joke, honey. Even Gibbs isn't old enough for that, yet."

Jenny sighed and tilted her head back. She snorted.

"He's old enough for sex, though," she remarked casually.

"I hope you don't think he's a virgin," Jackie warned. "I don't know his private life, but I know that part went out the window at _least_ more'n five years ago."

Jenny cocked an eyebrow, chewing on her lip.

"Interesting," she said, and then straightened up, looking sideways at Jackie. "Jackie—what kind of birth control do you use?"

"Pills," Jackie answered promptly. "Military health care provides family planning," she said, and then caught Jenny's eye. "You askin' for a reason?"

Jenny swallowed bravely.

"I need to go on it," she said firmly. "It isn't something I want to discuss with my father."

"Hm, the Colonel," Jackie muttered. "Leon's old man says he's a hell of a man," she said, looking at Jenny intently. "I get that, it's real personal, and even if you were legal, you'd rather keep 'im in the dark, huh?"

"Ideally," Jenny said shortly.

"You and Gibbs having sex?" Jackie asked bluntly.

Jenny gave her a sharp look—but, considering what she was asking, decided it was a fair question.

"No," she said. "Not—yet," she said, letting out a breath.

"Nothin' wrong with that," Jackie said firmly. "I told him you seemed fresh, and he said he didn't give a damn," she revealed.

"I seem fresh?"

"You haven't done it, have you?"

Jenny closed her lips, cocked an eyebrow, and shook her head.

"But—you can tell?"

"You look around at the girls in your school, and you can make a good guess on who's done it and who hasn't," Jackie said wryly, and Jenny laughed—it was true, and she was glad to hear she wasn't the only one who played that game.

Jackie shrugged.

"It's not written on your forehead, but I assume most girls your age haven't."

"Had you?"

"Yeah," Jackie said frankly. "Leon's the only man I've ever been with," she said, smiling widely. "I like it that way—romantic," she said.

Jenny shrugged, reaching up and making sure her sunglasses were still on her head—she was unsure how she felt after that comment, since she now—well, knew—that Gibbs had definitely had other women; she didn't want the two of them to be…less romantic.

"You wantin' me to get you birth control?" Jackie asked.

Jenny swung forward, hanging onto the rails behind her.

"I think I should be responsible for that," she said. "I need—advice on where to get it," she went on.

"You need a 'scrip for brand name, but a lot of girls don't know you can pick up the generic for about nine bucks at a drug store," Jackie said. "That's what I was doin' when I was in high school—and then I talked to the school nurse about how to use it."

"I have friends who use it," Jenny said. "I can learn that…easily."

"Learn it," Jackie said seriously. "You use it right, it'll work," she said firmly—and Jenny smiled; Holly had said the same thing. "You should get a check up with a gynecologist, get a good 'scrip if you can," she said. "Or maybe they can put one of them things in your arm, that keeps you good for years."

Jenny tilted her head—she hadn't heard of that before.

"Or a shot," Jackie added thoughtfully. "You can go to free clinics, but since you have health insurance, you should see a private practice doctor, because they're really good," she advised.

"My father," Jenny began hesitantly.

"The doctor can't tell your father that stuff," Jackie said. "You're over fourteen, so they restrict his access—thank feminism," Jackie added smartly.

Jenny smirked—if it came down to it, she'd tell her father she was just taking precautions—but she didn't want to discuss it with him. She looked up at the sun, blinking, and then Jackie reached out and put her hand on her shoulder.

"Girl, let me tell you somethin'," Jackie said. "Leroy, you won't find a better man than him," she said frankly. "He won't do a thing to you if you don't want it, so you just be up front with 'im—damn, speak of the devil," she broke off.

Jenny turned, as Jackie straightened up and started waving. Jenny perked up and hung over the rail, as both Vance and Gibbs approached the rink in their snowy, muddy ACUs, hands full of hot chocolate from the vender by the entrance. Jenny grinned, and Jackie was quick to pull Leon close for a quick kiss before she gratefully snatched her hot cocoa from him.

Jenny was more demure—when Gibbs reached her, he held out the hot chocolate, and she clasped her hands over his warmly before she took it and, as always, popped the lid off and breathed in the scent. Her brows went up.

"Mm, raspberry?" she guessed.

He smirked—and she took a sip. It burned her tongue, but it was sweet and delicious, and she grinned at him, leaning forward and kissing his cheek.

"You two—crashing our party," Jackie admonished loudly. "Leon—you weren't supposed to meet me until seven," she reprimanded.

"We thought you ladies could use some warmin' up," Vance drawled, grabbing slyly at Jackie's waist. She shrieked, and swatted him away, laughing. "Think I'm the man to do that," he growled, and Jackie tried to escape again, only to be pulled back and held while she pretended to pout about it.

"Leon, throw on some skates for a minute—please," she started to whittle him down, and Jenny cocked her brow at her boyfriend.

"You come here to warm me up?" she asked quietly.

Gibbs inclined his head, his eyes glinting slyly.

"If you're cold," he retorted, and she smiled, and handed him her cocoa.

"Hold this," she said, and then hoisted herself up on the rail. "Here—" she reached out for him, and he swung her down. She stood on the rocky ground outside, having trouble balancing in skates, and Jackie looked over.

"You bailin' on me for him?" she asked.

"Leon," Jenny said, looking straight at Jackie's husband. "You get out there and skate with your wife," she ordered, snapping. "Give her eight minutes—then, Jackie, y'all want to all get dinner?"

Jackie nodded, and shot Leon a wicked look.

"You're mine, Leon," she growled provocatively—and Leon shot Jenny a withering look, but she was laughing, and forcing Gibbs to help her to the awning where she could change from her skates into her red boots.

She sat down on a freezing bench, and had started to lean over to unlace when Gibbs instead shook his head, handed her back her cocoa, and crouched down in front of her to do the laces for her. She took a sip of cocoa, bit her lip, and watched him—and then she swallowed hard, and called his name softly.

He looked up at her, pausing.

"We should—talk," she said.

His lips twitched a little, and he nodded, reaching up to squeeze her knee affectionately.

* * *

They walked away from the crowd of the outdoor rink towards the grassy parking knoll, and she enjoyed the silence while she sipped her cocoa for courage and warmed her hands with it, and let him warm her with the weight of his arm slung comfortably over her shoulder.

He and Vance had come from Quantico in the trunk—she was surprised Gibbs was out of training this early, but she was relieved. He slipped his arm off of her when he reached the truck and messed with the back until he had the tailgate down. He leaned back against it and looked at her patiently, and she leaned next to him, arms stretched out on the truck, supporting herself on her elbows, pressing her lips to her Styrofoam coffee mug, and wondering how she should start.

She pressed her lips together, licking them slowly, tasting the raspberry and chocolate, and she flicked the top off the hot drink with her nail and looked down into the steaming liquid.

"You asked if I wanted to have sex," she said.

He arched a brow, but nodded, his face unreadable.

"With you, I presume," she went on, deadpan.

That got a laugh.

"Yeah, Jen, with me," he agreed, giving her a mock possessive look. "You thinkin' someone else?"

"Well, I hate to bring this up now, but Tobias and I…" she trailed off and laughed at her own joke, unable to keep it up. "No, no one else, Jethro," she assured him, and then pressed her lips together and looked up at him again.

He waited.

"I haven't ever had sex," she said, and then, just in case it wasn't clear, she hurried on: "with _anyone_."

He didn't really react—if anything, his jaw unclenched a little, and she thought he seemed relieved; he must have been expecting this to be a—much worse conversation. He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Yeah, Jen, I figured," he said calmly.

"You—did?" she asked in a small voice.

He shrugged. He didn't elaborate; he thought it obvious. Not to any passing guy, but he'd been with her for months now, and there was always something hesitant—he might have been unsure at first, but it had become clear recently that she was reticent about it because she didn't do it.

"Jen," he said gruffly. "You'd have already slept with me," he pointed out. "You…know what you want," he tried to put it into words.

She nodded—she understood what he was saying, in a way. They clicked so well; they were such a good match, and they were so close, and so right for each other, that it was obvious they'd have fallen into bed together if they were the same age, or maybe under different, exotic circumstances.

"Does it freak you out?" Jenny asked abruptly. "That I've never—that I'm a virgin?" she winced a little.

Gibbs gave her a funny look, like he didn't get the question.

"S'not like you're a toy, Jen," he said. "Plenty of girls haven't."

"Not the girls you're used to," Jenny said, glancing at him warily. "I mean, girls your age—none of them are virgins, I'm sure," she said dryly.

He shrugged again.

"I don't mess around with enough of 'em to know," he said, but he hesitated, and thought of something one of his old girlfriends—Stephanie—had told him once. "More of 'em than you think, I bet," he offered.

He hadn't dated Stephanie for very long, and she hadn't been a virgin, but she'd thrown a fit when she realized he had been _not_ a virgin since he was fifteen—and she'd tried to get it through his head that a lot of women were pickier, and she'd shouted that all of her closest friends, sophomores at university, were virgins—and that had sort of opened his eyes, Stephanie's rant, and how Shannon had always said girls always thought about it more, and wanted it to mean more.

"Nina said it would scare you off," Jenny piped up, her voice quiet. She smiled shyly. "Holly said it would turn you on," she took a sip and muttered into her cocoa—it had been a long time ago that Holly said it— "because I'll be so tight."

He raised his eyebrows and nudged her with his elbow; she laughed a little, her cheeks flushing.

She licked her lips and hesitated, and then shook her hair back, and looked up at him.

"It's not a deal breaker?" she asked bravely.

"Nah," he said simply.

She felt so utterly relieved—and she broke into a huge grin. He smiled at her—he sincerely hoped he hadn't made her feel like she had to sleep with him to keep him—he was already kept. He thought they were done, and reached out to pull her close—but she kept talking, so instead he just rested his hand on her lower back.

"I mean, I'm not waiting until I'm married. It's just—I've never seriously had to think about it, and I think a lot, so it might take some more thinking and…more thoughts," she rambled. "To contradict the King…um, a little _more_ conversation, a little less action?"

Gibbs laughed. He lazily ran his hand over her leather jacket, turning a little and leaning next to her. He slid his arm over her shoulders, hugging her to her side. She sipped her hot cocoa, blushing again. The cold, and the cute flush of her cheeks, made her face glow, and he liked that.

"Thought's good," he muttered seriously. He grit his teeth. "I don't want to hurt you, Jen," he managed to say. "You've got to…let me know, give me boundaries."

"It's not _boundaries_ I want to give you," she said, a little frustrating edging into her voice. "I like it when you touch me, I like what you did to me on New Year's, I like all of that it…it's good," she admitted, turning to look at him. "I might…want to stop, though," she mumbled.

"Then I'll stop," he said seriously, setting his jaw. "Just _stop_ me," he insisted. He pressed his lips to her neck. "I want you to feel good," he said huskily, his lips brushing her throat, making the frayed edges of her scarf flutter. He tilted his head. "Want you to be comfortable throwin' water on me, too," he joked.

She laughed hoarsely.

She turned to him, and chewed on her lip.

"You won't get it from…other women?"

He pulled back, affronted. His fingertips dug into her leather jacket, clutching it in his fist.

"Jesus, Jen, you think I'd do that to you?" he demanded, annoyed suddenly.

"Well," she said delicately, exasperated. She frowned. "No, I don't," she murmured firmly. "I—I don't even feel threatened when you mention old girlfriends; I know you're…with me. But I suppose we never really said we were exclusive, it was just a—I assume, a mutual acceptance of it, and you are older than me," she said, stumbling over her words.

He shook his head, and picked her up, placing her on the tailgate—she shivered; it was so cold, even though she had tights on under her jeans, and he placed his hands on her thighs, looking at her seriously.

"It's just you, Jen," he emphasized. "Don't get me wrong, I want it," he told her bluntly. He titled his head, and a muscle in his jaw flexed. "I want it from _you_," he said pointedly. "Not other women. Or I'd be datin' them."

She tilted her head back and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, suddenly desperate to wrap herself up in him in the bed of his truck—fuck if it was cold, she at least wanted to take her gloves off and put them against his chest, and feel his warm skin and his heartbeat.

"This isn't the manipulative, aggressive pressure they told me boys would give me about sex!" she laughed, almost frustrated by it. That—she had been taught how to deal with; she knew how to angrily and indignantly say no; she didn't know how to say no when she wasn't even sure if she wanted to say no, she just felt she should—for now.

"They?" he snorted.

"The ubiquitous _they_," she patronized. She bit her lip and eyed him thoughtfully. "It took me six months to go down on you," she said in a low voice. She frowned to herself. "You might get tired of waiting—on a stupid high school girl."

"_That_ was worth the wait," he said, his voice huskily suddenly.

She tucked her hair behind her ears, letting that comment flatter her for a moment.

"Holly said once you have sex…you crave it like a bitch," she said, the unspoken hanging in the air—_and you've had it, Jethro, so you must be dying for it_.

"Yeah," he agreed succinctly. He shrugged. He looked a little wary, like he looked when he was thinking too much.

"Don't you want it bad?" she asked, a tense edge to her voice.

"Yeah," he said again, swallowing hard. His eyes ran over her body, and his hands felt hot on her thighs suddenly, burning through her jeans and tights. "Not from some random woman," he forced out pointedly, again.

It didn't do anything—that kind of hookup. He'd made that mistake twice—the physical pleasure sated him, sure, but without the emotional aspect—he didn't think it was anymore satisfying than what he could do to himself, and he just didn't seek it anymore.

"Told you," he growled tensely. "I want _you_, Jen."

She took a deep breath.

"Yeah?" she repeated his signature word. "Bad?"

"Real bad," he confirmed huskily, reaching for her. He pulled her close, stepping in-between her legs, and giving her a deep, hard kiss—seeking the bridled passion he knew was in her.

She rested her hands on his neck and her heart raced. The kiss ended—ages later, and her ears rang, and her lips burned for more, and her head spun.

"Jethro," she whispered. She clutched him. "I want to do it," she admitted—the first time she'd admitted it out loud to him, and to herself, with real confidence and resolve—yes, she wanted to sleep with him, have sex with him, fuck him, make love to him—all of it. She liked her lips. "It's the first time I've wanted to, and I need to sort—"

"Jen," he placated seriously. He shrugged, and just nodded. "It won't be worth it unless you're okay with it," he mumbled, rolling his eyes at how after-school special he sounded. "It won't be good."

"I want it to be good," she murmured earnestly.

He nodded, and shrugged again—that was that. He meant what he said, and there was some relief in finally knowing where she was on the issue. He kissed her again, intimate, overwhelming, and she held onto him tightly, really letting herself enjoy it, explore it. He grinned, and broke the kiss.

"You know, the other things you mentioned—"

"Blowjobs?" she mumbled against his lips.

"Aren't half bad," he joked.

She blushed, and laughed softly, pleased with herself. She wrapped herself around him in a warm hug and breathed in his scent—he smelled like the wood he was always carving, and snow, and somehow, whiskey, always whiskey.

"You have to bear with me when I ask you about it," she warned. "Technicalities," she clarified.

He hated what that might mean, but he just nodded—he'd put up with personal questions if he had to, for her. He pressed his lips to her neck slowly, kissing to her jaw, and back to her lips, and then he looked at her for a moment. His hands dipped between her legs, and he caught her eyes; her breathing hitched a little, and she bit her lip. He leaned forward and kissed her quickly.

"Still want to return that favor," he growled softly, and she smiled nervously—she wanted him to; she wanted to know what that was like—if it was anywhere near as good as he claimed her going down on him was, she was thrilled he wanted to do it—since Holly told her younger guys usually didn't want to—

She didn't want to make him any promises—it was the beginning of February, and March was so close, and she knew setting dates was stupid—but she thought re-evaluation the situation after her eighteenth birthday would be—prudent.

"Yo," Vance called; coming up behind Gibbs and grabbing his shoulders, yanking him back. "I'm sorry miss, was this asshole bothering you?" Vance asked loudly, gallantly kneeling before Jenny.

Jackie kicked his feet, rolling her eyes, and gave Jenny an apologetic look—but Jenny just grinned, feeling about a thousand times lighter than she had been. She drew her legs up to her in the truck and looked around, her eyes meeting Gibbs' over Vance's head.

"Dinner?" she asked, tearing her eyes away from him after a moment, and looking at the others.

Vance hopped up, brushing off and nodding. Jackie agreed, and Gibbs strode up to swing Jenny off the truck.

"Shotgun," Vance tried—and Gibbs instead shoved him rudely into the truck, pushing his head down against the tailgate.

Vance snorted, and Jackie shrugged, refusing to help him.

"You reap what you sow, Leon," she said sassily. "You oughta know—a Marine's girl always rides shotgun."

* * *

_~feedback pls~_

_-alexandra_


	15. Mrs Robinson

_A/N:__ *special appearances by Samantha Ryan, Margaret Alison Hart, Diane Stirling, and Stephanie Flynn (well, in a way...) - you might actually die when you read one of the names of Gibbs, er, past women... :D . Jackie has a crisis in this chapter, oh no! I'm glad you all liked Gibbs last chapter - he's such an adorable little shit. _

_Chapter Thirteen_

_Mrs. Robinson_

* * *

She yawned and ran her hand through her thick, knotted hair, sitting lazily up in bed and holding her iPhone to her ear. It was barely the crack of dawn, but she'd given up all hope of going back to sleep—and Gibbs wouldn't mind her calling him; the excellent thing about Gibbs was that he seemed to legitimately not care if she woke him up. It was closing in on time for him to get up and start his day at sharp shooting school, anyway, so she didn't feel too guilty—

"Gibbs," he answered gruffly. His voice sounded faraway and muffled, and she heard a rustling noise, like he was shifting around in bed.

"It's me," she said primly, holding back another yawn—it was how she always started their phone conversation.

"Who's _me_?" he mumbled groggily—she smiled to herself; he must have been completely, utterly, dead asleep. In that case, she almost felt bad, because his training was rigorous, and he rarely slept that well.

"Your girlfriend," she prompted in a quiet voice.

"Which one?" he retorted, deadpan.

"Bastard," Jenny hissed, laughing softly.

He snorted, and she heard him moving around again. He cleared his throat.

"S'four in the mornin'," he grumbled. "You okay? What's wrong?"

"Nothin'," she sighed. "Couldn't sleep," she murmured.

She threw her covers off and got up, stretching a little. She balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder and pulled on a pair of frayed pajama pants before gently waking Ike up and opening her door.

Gibbs grunted something tiredly, and then she heard a hiss.

"What was that?"

"Damn cat won't stay off my feet," he growled.

"You better not have kicked him!" hissed Jenny.

"I _nudged_ him," retorted Gibbs vaguely, his voice still muffled. Typical Jethro response.

"Jethro, you're talking into your pillow; I can barely hear you."

He said something loudly and unintelligibly, presumably _directly_ into his pillow, and she rolled her eyes and bit back a laugh as she crept down the stairs. She opened the front door quietly and let out Ike for a bit. He pranced around happily in the snow, and she shut the door snugly so as not to let the cold in.

"You have that nightmare?" Gibbs asked warily.

She bit her lip, moving around the kitchen by memory rather than lights. She turned a small lamp on the oven on and pulled coffee out of the cabinet, yawning one final time to fully shake sleep off.

"No," she murmured, with a little shiver. She kept having a nightmare about him being deployed—and it was awful; gruesome even: in it, she was usually on the front porch, letting an Army chaplain tell her that her father had been killed, and Gibbs was standing next to her, with his arm around her shoulder—but when she turned to him for comfort, crosshairs appeared on his forehead and then she was just—spattered with blood.

She made a distasteful face, and measured out coffee pointedly. She had no idea what had triggered the dreams. She was accustomed to the occasional nightmare about losing her father, but a scare in which she lost them both? It was unimaginable.

"It wasn't that one," she murmured, as if confirming to herself that she hadn't had it again. Her lips quirked up a little. "It _was_ a dream that woke me up, though," she added.

"Mmm," he mumbled.

"Mmm," she mimicked, smirking. She started the coffee maker and ran her hand through her hair again, tangling her fingers in it and clutching it for a moment. "My hair's all sweaty," she teased.

"Yeah?" he patronized—she could tell he was tolerantly letting her talk to him, probably because he liked the sound of her voice, so she rolled her eyes and chewed her lip for a moment.

"You were in it," she said, emphatically.

That seemed to catch is attention.

"Yeah?" he asked again, though he sounded more alert, and slightly huskier.

"Mm-hmm," she murmured, leaning against the kitchen counter. She lowered her voice suggestively. "It was a sexy dream."

She could imagine him pushing himself up in bed and glaring at his phone, and she tried not to laugh at the image. She combed her fingers through her hair a little nervously, biting the inside of her lip.

"You old enough for that kind of thing?" he quipped.

She snickered, crinkling her nose good-naturedly.

"NC-17, it's a rating, right? I'm seventeen," she reminded him wryly. "It was a really hot dream, Jethro."

"'M listenin'."

"I—well," she blushed, suddenly unsure of herself. She had decided to call to tell him about it, because she thought it would be fun, but now she realized saying it all out loud might be a little—weird. She took a deep breath and shifted her feet, wrapping one around her midriff.

She licked her lips.

"It was almost like a memory, at first," she mumbled. "You and I were…in Stillwater, except it was really hot," she said slowly. "Hot, like, blistering summer heat—but you were showing me that old Charger you built, and you took my cup of ice cubes and dumped them down my shirt, 'cause you said I looked like sin, sucking on them—"

"Damn straight," he growled.

She laughed, still biting her lip a little. She took another slow breath and looked up to the ceiling, listening to the coffee percolate for a few quiet seconds.

"I shoved you, because the ice was freezing, and it got in my bra, and you fell into the back of the car, so you yanked me down in there with you and you offered to get me out of the wet shirt, which I condescended to let you do," she said primly, laughing softly, "except you didn't stop."

"You want me to?" he asked. His voice sounded different, further away.

"Huh-uh," she breathed out. "You got up and locked us in the shed, and you got on top of me in the back seat."

"Not much room back there," he said.

"It was a pretty tight fit," she agreed, lowering her voice slightly. Her eyes flicked over to the coffee machine. She heard a noise in the hallway—Ike scratching on the door—but stood still, loathe to break the moment. "I told you cars turn me on. The whole time, I felt like I did that night in your car, on New Year's Eve," she said hoarsely.

He made a smug noise, and she grinned, and pressed her lips together.

"Except I woke up," she lamented. "At precisely the wrong moment—and I'm all sweaty and frustrated," she licked her lip and stuck her tongue in her cheek, smirking wickedly to herself, "and I thought it was only fair if you felt like that, too."

"_Dammit_, Jen!" he swore edgily.

She laughed huskily, tugging on the edges of her own hair.

"I need a shower," she teased airily, affecting a simper.

"You need me," he growled, and she raised her eyebrows, catching her breath a little.

"You're not here," she murmured. "I'll just have to think about you—"

"In your bed?"

"Hmm-mm," she mumbled, blushing to herself. "I only do it in the shower—I like the hot water, and the steam," she revealed slowly. She hesitated, her stomach tightening a little—she really couldn't shake the dream, and she really wished she had access to him whenever she wanted him, so he could run his hands over her and cool the burn a little—after he fanned the flames, of course. "Are you going to think about me?" she asked.

The kitchen light flipped on suddenly.

"Who the hell are you on the phone with at four in the morning?" demanded the Colonel loudly, standing there in a wrinkled t-shirt, bathrobe, and his ridiculous—but beloved—bugs bunny pajama pants.

Jenny let out a soft scream and dropped her phone, flinching when it smacked the floor unhappily.

She stared at her father, her mouth open, blinking in the sudden harsh light.

"How long—have you been standing there?" she squeaked warily.

He only glared at her, and then flicked his eyes to her phone—and she scrambled to sweep it off the floor—thank God the screen wasn't cracked. She could hear Gibbs saying her name—confused at first, and then cautious.

"Daddy," she said loudly, her face paling slightly. "How long—"

"Long enough," he retorted vaguely, an annoyed look on his face. "Who the hell is on the phone, Jennifer?"

"The Taliban," she told him dryly—meant as a joke, and an answer in one. "You—this is not against the rules."

The Colonel strode forward and plucked the cell phone firmly from his daughter's hand. He glanced at the screen, snorted, and held it to his ear.

"Mornin', Corporal," the Colonel said loudly into the receiver. "Thought I'd make sure mine's the last voice you heard before you hop in that cold shower," he added pleasantly, promptly ending the call and handing it back to Jenny. "I reckon he'll be thinkin' about me," he informed her—and he seemed slightly too proud of himself.

She frowned and snatched the phone back from him, clutching it tightly and folding her arms.

"Why are you—up and—and creeping around?" she demanded, resigned. "And you—you _never_ gave me parameters regarding phone calls."

"I am always up this early, Jennifer," the Colonel said sharply. "I was goin' over some new intelligence from Kabul, when you snuck downstairs—go let that dog in," he told her.

She compressed her lips and obeyed, leaving the coffee as it started to signal that it was finished. She let Ike in, and rested her hand in his fur as he trotted next to her into the kitchen for his food bowl. Her father gave her a withering look, then arched an eyebrow and sort of grumbled to himself and turned to pour coffee. She raised her eyes to the ceiling—at least he wasn't going to say anything about whatever he'd overheard—except, now she was afraid he'd heard the last bit, and the thought of getting in the shower completely mortified her.

The Colonel turned and offered her a mug, and she took it without looking at him, clicking her tongue at Ike so he'd trot over to her and snuggle up to her legs. She swallowed and held her mug snugly, turning on her heel to go.

"Jennifer," the Colonel said mildly, and Jenny winced, turning slightly and glancing back at him with a guarded expression. "You ought to go easy on that boy," he growled, slightly exasperated by what he'd heard—he didn't exactly want to know the details, and he wasn't even sure he understood what the hell she'd been murmuring to her damn boyfriend in such an obnoxiously _womanly_ voice, but a small part of him—the part that used to be such a _guy_, felt for the Marine.

She smiled at him innocently.

"But Daddy, I'm not easy," she retorted smartly.

She left the kitchen with Ike at her heels like some majestic, protective familiar—and the Colonel glared after her dubiously, unsure if he was comforted by that particular sass, or unnerved by it.

* * *

Gibbs glared warily around him at all of the tulle, sparkles, satin, and frills. He kept losing Jenny in all of the glitz and glam—two things he generally liked to avoid at all costs—and when he attempted to stick with her by slipping his hand in her back pocket, she either swatted him away, or allowed it—and then escaped.

He couldn't exactly remember how she had roped him into this last night.

"Jen," he growled obstinately, glancing around the rack of dresses he was staring at. "Why'm I here again?"

There was a rustling noise behind him, and her head popped out from between two ridiculously large, pale blue ball gowns.

"To spend time with me," she simpered, puckering her lips.

"I don't like you this much," he retorted, gesturing around, his face deadpan. She stuck her tongue out at him for the joke, and extricated herself from the dresses. She nodded her head at Holly, who was lost somewhere in a row of slinky bedazzled black gowns.

"Holly needs a man's opinion on her prom dress," she said matter-of-factly.

"Holly has a Mark."

"Mark can't see the prom dress before prom night. It's Holly's rule."

"I thought that was weddings," Gibbs griped.

"Don't question Holly's idiosyncrasies," Nina advised, examining the price tag on a light pink prom dress.

"That's pretty, Neeners, try it on," Jenny advised.

Nina arched an eyebrow and tilted her head, ignoring Jenny. Gibbs glanced around warily, lifting his chin.

"Where's Fornell?" he asked loudly.

"I told you to keep him on the leash if you were going to bring him," Jenny reprimanded seriously.

"I turned my back for a _second_," Gibbs retorted.

"That's all it takes," Nina remarked blithely. "I'll go find him—I'm sure he's hanging out near the dressing rooms," she added slyly.

Jenny cocked an eyebrow and shook her head, smiling smugly as she met Gibbs' eyes.

"You're obligated to be here because I played the girlfriend card, why'd you decide to drag Tobias?"

"He's bored on base," growled Gibbs darkly. "Last time he was bored, he slept with an officer's wife."

Jenny snorted and strolled off towards a less poufy section of dresses. Holly darted up to her with three potential prom dresses in her arms, a very serious look on her face.

"I need your presence in the dressing room; I'm trying these on," she said authoritatively. She grabbed Jenny's arm. "You too, Jedediah," she shouted at Gibbs, as she dragged Jenny off.

Gibbs rolled his eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets, following at a leisurely pace. At the entrance to the elaborate dressing room, Nina was holding Fornell's shoulder in a vice-like grip and pleasantly preventing him from entering.

"He was pretending to be an attendant," Nina explained lightly. She shook her head in small amusement, and cocked an eyebrow. "I've been trying to impress upon him the creepiness of such behavior."

"The ladies thought I was quite charming," Fornell drawled, winking at a girl who was just exiting the dressing room—she giggled, and blushed.

"They probably thought you're gay, Tobias," Gibbs retorted bluntly.

Fornell's smug grin faded slightly, and he glared. Gibbs smirked at him, and Tobias shoved his friend's shoulder roughly. Gibbs slapped his hand away, and Nina gave them both pointed looks.

"Do I have to get Jenny?" she asked.

"I can't help you," Jenny called from a curtained little room. "I'm lacing Holly's corset—if he's being bad, slap him on the nose," she advised.

Nina raised her hand warningly at both men. Fornell grinned charmingly at her, and Gibbs just glared.

"She's the only one who can do that," he told Nina seriously.

"Kinky," Nina retorted smoothly, and took a step back to lean against the wall. She grinned, and pushed some of her dark hair back, sighing and waiting for the first round of prom dresses to be paraded out.

"How come half these dresses are short?" Fornell asked suddenly. "When I went to prom, all the girls wore long dresses," he said.

Nina tilted her head.

"It's a newer trend," she answered. "I suppose since celebrities wear flashy, expensive but short dresses on the Oscar red carpet all the time now, the prom styles take more risks in the short department," she explained. "Prom, it is kind of like the Oscars of high school."

"Is that one gonna be prom queen?" Fornell asked wryly, tilting his head towards Holly's dressing room.

"Possibly," Nina said, shrugging. "It could be the dance captain, Kensi Blye, or this girl who's student council president, Sarah Porter," she mused. "If Jenny had stayed on student council, actually, I'd say she'd be in the running."

Fornell reached out and punched Gibbs' shoulder.

"Second prom queen you'd have dated, then," he remarked loudly.

"Jen would hate it," Gibbs snorted.

"Oh, yeah," Nina agreed, laughing. "She's really well-liked, though. She quit student council this year, though, to focus on debate and work—"

"Newspaper," Gibbs grunted.

"Mm-hmm," Nina agreed. "She does the political column for our school newspaper," she added, clarifying things for Fornell.

"Who's the first prom queen you dated?"

Nina turned, and found Jenny standing behind her, her eyebrow raised in mock menace. Nina smiled and leaned back against the wall, and Jenny pretended to glare at Gibbs. He tilted his head, giving her a mysterious look, and Fornell snorted.

"His high school sweetheart," Fornell revealed tactlessly. "What was her name?" he prompted. "I get her mixed up with that Diane broad, the one you were taken with at boot camp—"

Gibbs head-slapped Fornell to shut him up, and then was silent for a long time, his jaw set.

"Maggie," he answered finally, naming the high school girlfriend.

"_Maggie_," repeated Fornell, snickering. He smirked and glanced at Jenny, arching his eyebrows. She arched her eyebrows right back and said nothing, stepping to the side instead and gesturing her hands out.

"Holly," she called, warning her friend that she could flounce into the middle of the dressing area and show herself off.

The first dress she'd chosen was a short white dress with a lacy, embroidered bodice, a white bow at the waist, and a back that laced up magnificently—and upon seeing it, Nina immediately let out a squawk of outrage.

"You can't wear white to prom!" she declared.

"Yes, I—"

"No, white gowns look like wedding gowns, this is _prom_ it's not—"

"It's _short,_ that negates the wedding gown similarity—"

"It's _white_! No white at prom!"

Holly stomped her foot at Nina, rolling her eyes in annoyance.

"Well, do I look pretty, at least?"

"Fuck that, you always look pretty, go find a _not_ white dress," Nina retorted.

"I can wear white if I want!"

"It will look like a wedding dress!" Nina all but shrieked.

Holly turned to Jenny.

"Mediate," she ordered.

Jenny cocked an eyebrow and surveyed the two girls.

"White at prom is a little too wedding-ish," she remarked. "And—you know how I feel about the short prom dress," she added, giving Holly a glare. "However," she glanced at Nina wickedly. "Holly _can't_ wear white at her wedding, so why don't we let her have this one?"

Nina tilted her head back and laughed.

"What do you mean I can't—oh, haha, Jennifer, god you're funny," Holly groused good-naturedly, looking down at her figure. She twirled in front of the mirror, and then came to a stop. She placed her hands on her hips and looked at the boys. "Well?"

Fornell tilted his head, looking her up and down.

"Makes you look kinda washed out," he said bluntly.

He suddenly found himself being glared at by two infuriated girls—Nina and Jenny—and Gibbs slapped him in the back of the head.

"You should have brought his shock collar," Jenny said aggressively, ready to defend her friend.

"Stop," Holly said, surprising them. She glanced in the mirror again. "He's right, I'm too pale for alabaster. See? Mark never would have said that, and then I'd look like Moaning Myrtle at the prom," she said indignantly. "Last opinion—Jethro?" she asked.

Gibbs looked at her warily, and then glanced at Jenny. The redhead rolled her eyes.

"It's not like I think you've never considered another girl pretty," she said, inclining her head.

Gibbs shrugged.

"You look nice," he said gruffly. "White's gonna scare the guy, though."

"Why?" demanded Holly.

"'Cause—looks like a wedding dress."

"Oh for the love of God," Holly groused, stomping her foot. She smiled though, looking around at them all proudly. "I'm going to be perfect by the end of this—Nina, come help me get into the blue one," she demanded, flouncing back into the curtained dressing room. "Jenny," she called. "I want to see you try at least one dress on."

Her voice became muffled, and Jenny heard her arguing with Nina as she tried to get her to try on a dress, too. She rolled her eyes and wandered away from the dressing room a bit, to the dresses closest to that area. She casually examined a floor-length, slinky red gown; simple, with no embellishments, and ran her fingers over it, bored.

"When's the prom?" Gibbs asked.

"The middle of May," Jenny said, rolling her eyes. "Holly always wants to get a good start—last year, she dragged us out the day after New Year's," she snorted.

Gibbs looked appalled, and Jenny smirked, pointing at his expression.

"That's exactly how I felt—I bought a dress though," she remarked flippantly, and then turned to him and smiled wryly. "So, your high school sweetheart was the prom queen?" she asked, teasing him a little.

He grimaced.

"Was she your first girlfriend?"

He nodded curtly, and Jenny cooed at him, wrinkling her nose.

"I didn't picture you as the prom queen type," she mused. She moved on to the next dress, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. "How long did you and _Maggie_ date?" she asked.

Gibbs shrugged—he didn't actually remember.

"Wasn't serious," he said honestly. "She was the same as every other girl in Stillwater, 'cept Shannon," he added—almost without thinking. To make sure they didn't start talking about Shannon, he moved on quickly. "Maggie wasn't a sweetheart," he muttered.

"Why do you say that?" Jenny asked curiously.

"High school sweetheart," he growled. "Makes it sound like I loved her or somethin', or it was some big deal. It wasn't. It was laid back."

Jenny laughed, and shrugged.

"Was she your only girlfriend in high school?"

Gibbs shrugged again.

"Went out with a girl named Samantha," he said, and didn't elaborate. Jenny didn't press—she was relieved to find she didn't particularly care, except she desperately wanted to ask if he'd had sex with those girls, and here wasn't the place to do that.

Jenny pulled a dress off the rack, her eyes lighting up. Gibbs arched a brow.

"Pink?" he snorted. "Doesn't look like you," he remarked.

"It's not me—it's vintage; it's _perfect_ for Nina," she said, distracted. "Don't—I don't want to go to prom, Jethro," she told him, rolling her eyes and waving her hands. "I'm here for Holly; prom is not my thing."

"You were going to go to prom last year," Nina said, stepping up. She was putting her hair up, evidently sick of it getting in her way while she tried to help Holly dress.

Jenny glared at her.

"Why didn't you?" Gibbs asked.

Jenny rolled her eyes.

"The guy I was seeing, Tom," she muttered. She popped her knuckles together, as if trying to get her fingers to interlock. "We didn't—click. He…he was just, more concerned with how I looked," she griped. "I broke it off with him, and then—"

"Trent was totally going to take you," Nina reminded her. "Kensi said he asked you at her party."

"Yeah," Jenny said dryly, "and then Trent told everyone he was going to fuck the smart girl on prom night," she reminded Nina.

Nina cocked an eyebrow.

"But you wanted to go to prom," she remarked.

Jenny shrugged, laughing a little.

"It's overrated," she said.

"Oh, get over yourself, Jenny," Holly called lightly, hopping out of the dressing room in the next dress. She spread her arms wide dramatically and winked at Jenny to let her know she was kidding, and Jenny raised her eyebrows—this dress was pale blue, short, and speckled with sparkles.

Fornell whistled.

"You look like a modern Cinderella," Jenny remarked. "You know, slightly less virginal than the Disney version."

"Excellent," Holly remarked primly, turning to Nina and Gibbs. She arched her brows expectantly.

Nina nodded her head approvingly, smirking, and Gibbs just stared, his expression unreadable. Holly tilted her head and glanced at Jenny.

"Translate—is he staring because I look hot, or because he's offended?"

Jenny laughed.

"I don't know—I like that one, Holly, hang onto it," she suggested.

"It's a short one," Holly warned.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll choke on my words," Jenny said, rolling her eyes. She shrugged. "You did the princess ball gown last year," she conceded.

"I love this," Holly gushed, swirling around again—the fluffy skirt flared out and gave them an almost scandalous view of her thighs. She clasped her hands and jumped up and down. "I still have to try the last one, just in case," she said, and scrambled into the dressing room and shoved her white dress into Jenny's hands. "Hang that up, please," she requested.

"No, don't try on the red one," Nina said logically, tilting her head at Holly. "Jenny's dress is red, and if you like it, then you'll look too similar—do you really want to wear red next to her?" Nina asked, jerking her thumb at Jenny with a smirk.

"Gah, no," griped Holly, glaring at Jenny. "I won't try it, good point—blue is mine—"

"Holly, I'm not going," Jenny said with a laugh. "Try the red—the peacock design is unique."

Holly was shaking her head.

"No, red is your colour," she said flatly. "I'm going to call my dad for his credit card number, so I can put this on layaway, just in case," she said, almost talking to herself. "Nina, will you—wait, Nina, come in here, you're putting that pink dress on!" Holly said rapidly, snapping at Jenny.

Jenny quickly handed off the pink, vintage knee-length dress she'd found, still holding on to Holly's discarded white one. Nina looked skeptical, but stepped with Holly into the dressing room—Jenny told Gibbs she'd be right back, and went to hang up the white dress where Holly had found it.

Fornell and Gibbs leaned against to the entrance of the dressing room, and in a few seconds, Holly shoved Nina back into the middle, clad in a figure-flattering, classic pink, satin vintage prom gown. Holly peeked out from the curtain, holding it around her—presumably to disguise the fact that she was half-dressed.

She squealed, and Nina blushed.

"Jenny has to see this," Holly said. "You keep it on—_no_, Nina," she growled, when Nina tried to dart back in. "You stay until Jenny sees you."

Nina ran her hand through her hair and rolled her eyes, narrowing them threateningly at the boys. She glanced around, and then met Gibbs' eyes, compressing her lips.

"Where is she?" she asked, lowering her voice.

"Hangin' up that dress," he said, and Nina nodded and stepped forward, taking his arm.

"I think she wants to go to prom," Nina said quietly. "She—she doesn't want to ask you, because it's prom, and it's lame, you know," she explained. "But I think…I think she wants you to take her," she guessed.

"In your dress blues," Holly hissed, nodding emphatically.

Gibbs, looking uncertainly between them, didn't have a chance to answer before Jenny came wandering back and plucked Nina's hand off of Gibbs playfully, pretending to glare at her jealously. Nina bit her lip and put her hands on her hip, reluctantly modeling.

Jenny blinked, realized the Russian ballerina was in a prom dress, and then let out a squeal identical to Holly's.

"You look—damn, Nina, you look amazing," she gushed. "You have to wear that—you have to go," she encouraged earnestly. "You—the Czar said you could go senior year, Neener, don't let that go to waste," Jenny pleaded.

Nina scoffed, trying to hide how much she liked the dress—and herself in it.

"Finding a date is a hassle," she said flippantly. "Tim is visiting his father in Jacksonville that weekend—and the chess captain, he's handsy—"

"I'll take you," Fornell said suddenly.

Nina stopped talking and stared at him, one eyebrow raised. He shrugged.

"You said in Stillwater that if you were interested in datin', you might be interested in me," he reminded her, flashing a smug grin. "Prom dates don't mean nothin', everyone knows that," he said. "Least you'd have fun, if I took you."

Nina tilted her head, and then glanced at Jenny. Gibbs rolled his eyes, and glared at Tobias. Nina considered him for a minute, and then looked down at the dress, and placed her hands on her hips again, meeting Tobias's eyes.

"If you're going to be my escort, then," she said, tacitly accepting him. She gestured at the vintage pink silk. "Yours is the opinion that matters."

Fornell grinned, and Jenny raised her eyes to the ceiling, rolling her eyes with a smirk. She turned to Gibbs and slipped her hand into his, dragging him towards her a little. She flicked him in the chest, right near his heart, and crinkled her nose.

"Coffee," she suggested. "All this glitter and tulle—ugh," she sighed dramatically.

Gibbs managed to shoot a warning look at Fornell as Jenny dragged him away, and as he glared, he caught a meaningful look from Nina that made him file away the prom issue in the back of his mind.

* * *

They procured coffee from one of the kiosks, and sat at cramped little metal tables in a rest area across from a jewelry store—it was the same mall they'd done Black Friday shopping at, and considering all the talk about high school sweethearts and old girlfriends, Jenny couldn't help but remember this was where she'd first seen the picture of Shannon in his wallet.

She pushed her thick hair back and sipped on her coffee. She licked her lips and tilted her head at Gibbs, watching him scrutinize the people around them warily.

"Jethro," she began wryly, cocking an eyebrow. "Who was Diane?"

He gave her a wary look.

"That's the second time I've heard one of your friends mention her—"

"Leon say something to you?" demanded Gibbs, looking sharp suddenly.

"No," Jenny laughed. "No, Jackie mentioned her," she soothed. "She said she _hated_ her." Jenny smirked again. "Jackie made the rather intriguing comment that I was a _damn sight better than the last two redheads_."

Gibbs continued to look at her warily, and then took a protracted drink of coffee and spent an even more protracted length of time swallowing it. He tapped the side of his cup and cleared his throat.

She waited a moment, and then sighed carefully, and leaned forward, curling her hand around his wrist.

"I told you—you might have to put up with these questions," she said a little tensely, worried he was going to lose his cool with her. "I don't…have the past relationship experience you have…it's much easier for you to be with me than it is for me to be with you, if I'm doing it blind."

He looked at her hand, and then twisted his hand around and grasped her fingers in his.

"Diane," he muttered. "Saw her for most of the time I was at Parris Island," he told her, stroking her knuckles—and looking pointedly at them.

"Serious?" Jenny asked.

He shook his head silently.

"She was a couple years older," he snorted, ironically. "Didn't keep in touch after I went to Pendleton."

"You guys dated for a long time, though," Jenny said uncertainly. "The duration of boot camp—"

"It was physical," Gibbs said, looking up with a grimace. He met Jenny's eyes pointedly, and she fell silent, flushing slightly. "She was _older_," he repeated, slightly emphasizing the last word.

Jenny stared at him, and then arched her brow and laughed, her eyes glittering with realization.

"Oh, she was your Mrs. Robinson?"

"Not _that_ old, Jen—"

"She educated you!" Jenny hissed, grinning smugly. "She—can I have her address? I'm assuming she taught you well, I might need to send a thank you note," she teased.

Gibbs glared at her, not amused, and she quickly composed herself—she was a little intimidated by the revelation that he'd apparently spent his entire boot camp experience getting all kinds of sexual experience—but then, she wondered if that meant he hadn't had any up until that point. She took a moment to devote herself to her coffee, and then she looked at him cautiously again.

"Um—so, Samantha, Maggie, Diane," she listed slowly. "All not serious—and you said you dated that Joan Matteson girl a few times—"

"Not serious," Gibbs said, so this time, she grinned. "Too much like one of the guys," he snorted.

"Was there ever anyone serious?" Jenny asked, in a small voice.

He shrugged, and then rubbed his jaw, letting his coffee sit in the middle of the table for a moment, and still holding her hand. He ran his palm over his chin and reached for his cup again, studying it quietly.

"Stephanie," he said finally. "Dated her at Pendleton," he remembered slowly, tilting his head back. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Good girl," he muttered.

"What happened?" Jenny asked.

He shrugged.

"Wasn't right," he decided frankly. He looked at Jenny. "She wanted me to leave the Marines, didn't want the long distance," he said gruffly.

"You love the Marines," Jenny said softly.

Gibbs nodded curtly. He slipped his hands into hers so they fit together, squeezing her hand, and shot her a wry look.

"Didn't click," he said pointedly, echoing her problem with the guy she mentioned dating last year.

"Hmm," Jenny murmured, biting her lip. She blew her hair out of her face, went back to chewing her lip and then raised her eyes to the ceiling and took a deep breath. "Did you—um," she broke off. "Sleep with all of those women?"

"Jen," he said sharply—harsher than he meant to. He was just caught off guard—well, he had been expecting that to come up, but he also didn't think she'd have brought it up in the middle of the mall—

"Jethro," she hissed back, cringing—she had probably made a mistake, but she couldn't take it back now.

He tensed up, remembering how badly this conversation had gone when he'd had it with Stephanie. He didn't think Jenny was going to throw a fit because he'd been with other women—but he didn't necessarily want to go there, anyway. He tried to think of ways to avoid the conversation altogether—

"Look, Jethro, I know you're not a virgin," she said under her breath, looking at him earnestly. "I have to—think about things, that you don't have to…with me," she explained, frustrated. "Like, um, STDS—"

"Jen, I'm in the military," he growled. "I've got to have a clean bill of health before I qualify for sniper school," he reminded her tersely. "I got that physical done after I started seein' you, and I sure as hell haven't cheated."

"I didn't accuse you of cheating!" she hissed.

He gave her stubborn look.

"I warned you to—bear with me—"

"We're in a mall," he growled at her.

"Well, we're having the conversation!" she burst out. "If I filed it away for later, you'd find a way to keep me from bringing it up—"

"All of 'em," he said brutally.

She closed her mouth and stared at him, taken aback.

"All of 'em, except Maggie," he growled firmly—if that's what she wanted, he answered. "Two others who were just hook-ups," he added, probably unnecessarily It was unnecessary, he realized: he only remembered one of those girls' names_-Paloma,_ some girl he'd spent a night with in Mexico, and the other...she'd been blonde, and maybe her name had started with an H.

She calculated in her head—six girls, then. She bit her lip, her eyes wide, her heart beating in her throat.

"Okay," she tried to placate. "Okay—Jethro, I don't…I don't care," she tried to assure him, her voice shaking. "I'm not…going to get mad at you for having a life before me, I just want some…knowing you better makes me feel more comfortable with intimacy—"

"You think knowin' the girls I been with is intimate?" he demanded, and she was startled to realize that—she'd offended him, and it was possibly because he didn't like that he'd had to tell her he hadn't had well—he was only twenty two, so six was a fair number of women.

"I," she started. "I just—"

"You don't need to compare yourself to them, anyway," he snapped. "They didn't last; you're gonna last," he growled.

She was stunned slightly, dazzled by the comment—but she didn't quite let it catch her off guard so much that she stopped.

"Jethro," she said quietly, reaching for his hand again—he'd yanked it back, and put both around his coffee. "It's just…I wanted to know…how seriously you take sex, I guess," she confessed.

"Numbers don't define that," he growled dangerously. He didn't like that she might think he didn't care about her, or take her feelings seriously, just because he'd slept with a fair number of women.

"I…know," she said, thought she didn't sound convinced. She chewed on her lip and then made a fatal mistake. "Jackie said…you'd been having sex for a long time, so…were you about my age, when you-? With that Maggie girl? Or, wait…no, you said not her…Samantha?"

He instantly hated that she'd made the assumption that his first time had been with silly, Prom queen Maggie—Margaret Hart, who had been so homegrown cute and pure and sweet, who'd never thought about sex, because she had a purity ring on her left hand and a crucifix around her neck—and that she'd then thought it was Samantha Ryan, that rough-and-tumble tomboy with a knack for biology, who he'd really just dated because she liked to fool around—it was such an insult, it offended him, hit a nerve, and he lashed out—

"No," he growled curtly, pushing his chair back. "It wasn't Samantha," he growled. "It was Shannon," he added—and his tone was almost spiteful.

He knew it would shake her up, and he regretted saying something that was intended to hurt her the moment he saw the look on her face; she looked like she'd been slapped. He knew Shannon intimidated her, even though he wasn't lying when he told her he had never loved Shannon or even wanted to love her—and he said that because he knew it would upset her, and—

"Jenny," he said warily, standing up and leaning forward.

She pushed her hair back and hid her face for a moment, and then stood up, and stared at him.

"What do you—_Shannon_?" she asked, and it wasn't anger, it was just confusion in her voice, and a lost look on her face. "You told me…" she trailed off.

"Jen," he began—but at that moment, Fornell grabbed him around the shoulders and shook him, and Nina and Holly both appeared with coffee and snacks.

"Mark's waiting for us at the theater," Holly chirped. "He's saving seats in the back—and he says it's basically empty—"

"Because everyone saw _National Treasure: Book of Secrets _over Christmas," scoffed Nina.

"If you make one snotty comment about Nicolas Cage I will dump popcorn into your panties!" Holly growled, pointing at Nina menacingly—Nina stuck her tongue out, and Jenny took the moment of chaos to compose herself, stand up, and drain her coffee.

She swallowed hard.

"We invited Toby, here," Holly said, slapping Fornell's back, "since he's taking Neeners to prom—c'mon, Mark won't stop texting me demanding to know where I am—"

Jenny grabbed her coat and her wristlet from the table and avoided Gibbs' eyes as she got her things together and started to go. Fornell made some comment to Gibbs, and Nina sidled up to Jenny and slipped her arm through hers.

"You okay, Jenny?" Nina asked perceptively.

Jenny waved her off dismissively and checked her phone—and then, her brow furrowed.

She had a text message from Jackie Vance, and all it said was:

_Mayday: I could use an objective opinion right now._

* * *

She wasn't sure how she ended up sitting in Jackie's kitchen, making a particularly strong pot of coffee while the woman in question paced the floor. She had been considerably distracted during the movie while she tried to figure out why Jackie wanted her help—and when she'd said goodbye to everyone, and told Nina and Holly she'd be over to Nina's house later, she drove to Quantico not to see Gibbs, but to visit Jackie.

And frankly, she still didn't know why she was the one Jackie had reached out to, though according to Jackie it was because all of her female friends were back in New York.

"Both of my sisters had babies too young," Jackie griped, ringing her hands. "And I swore, I _swore_ I wasn't gonna be one of them."

"You're not _that_ young," Jenny pointed out, trying to placate her friend. "You're out of high school, you have a job, an associate's degree—"

"I was gonna go back and get my bachelor's!" Jackie said, a panicked look on her face. "I was going to be an anesthesiologist when me and Leon could afford it; I can't do that now!"

Jenny got up when the coffee maker rang, and began pouring mugs for herself and Jackie—the drama, it turned out, was that Jackie was pregnant, and it wasn't something she'd planned, or expected, or apparently wanted. It was surreal to Jenny because—well, she'd never imagined herself with friends who were pregnant, and just recently, Jackie had told her she wasn't ready for kids, and that her birth control always worked.

"What happened?" Jenny asked quietly, passing her some coffee—one mug of much-needed brew wouldn't hurt her, not this early. "Your birth control—"

"Oh, shit," Jackie swore, glowering. "I told you it works if you use it right—well, I screwed up—I was takin' antibiotics for strep throat the week of New Years, and I knew damn well it screws up the pill, and Leon and I—well it _was_ New Year's Eve," she griped, sitting down heavily and glaring into her coffee. "I fucked up—we don't have any condoms in the house—"

"Jackie," Jenny interrupted. "Jackie, you're going to be okay. The military is a good safety net for things like this—look, you've got housing, and you've got health care—"

"Yes, but I am not ready for a baby," snapped Jackie, interrupting. "I know it could be worse, but I—I like plans, and I wanted to be happy, not freakin' out—and Leon is just gonna be thrilled," she said, deflating a little.

Jenny gave her a half smile, still trying to take it all in. She pushed her hair back and took a long drink of coffee—she felt so stressed and tense; there was this situation, and then there was such a chill between her and Jethro right now, that she hadn't had time to fix—she swallowed more coffee.

"If you're not ready…I mean, if you're really not ready for this, would you—"

"No," Jackie interrupted. "No, I don't believe in none of that," she said sharply. "I mean—that's somethin' I would do if I was in a _really_ dire situation, but it's like you said, I got health care and a stable place to live—and I love Leon, we do _want_ kids it's just—"

"The timing," Jenny supplied, sympathetically.

"Yeah," Jackie agreed grudgingly. "The timing," she murmured. She rubbed her jaw and took a drink of coffee—then made a face, and pushed it away. "I just got this feeling…like I know now, Leon'll get deployed, and I'll be all alone when I have the baby," she said, her voice starting to shake. "And I already don't think I'm ready to take care of one, and alone? I mean, what if the baby gets sick and I don't know what to do, or I lose Leon overseas—"

Jenny stood up and planted her hands on the table.

"Jackie," she said firmly. "You can't think like that. None of that is an immediate concern right now," she said. "It's—I know it's hard not to think of worst case scenario, because I do it too—with my Dad, and with Jethro but," she paused, searching for something inspirational to say, "okay, you say Leon's gonna be happy? Well, just think about how for a split second, when you tell him, you're just going to feel excited, right?"

Jackie blinked at her warily.

Jenny raised her eyebrows.

"You said you love Leon and—you do want kids, well—this timing may scare you and all that but…there will be that moment when you get to see the look on his face, and for little bit you're just going to be happy, and then when the scary parts come back…you have Leon," she tried to explain.

She winced—she kind of thought she sounded stupid, but then again, she was seventeen—she didn't know what Jackie expected to hear from her.

"You," Jackie began. "You—got a lot of wisdom for your age," she said finally. "You knock sense into Leroy like that? 'Cause he needs it sometimes."

Jenny smiled weakly and sat down.

"I try," she mumbled, and then leaned forward. "You need me as a sounding board?" she questioned.

Jackie smiled, but a few frightened tears rolled down her cheeks.

"I know you've got a practical head, girl," she said. "I need to get the crazy out to someone who isn't—Leon."

Jenny nodded, and pushed Jackie's coffee mug towards her encouragingly. She nodded again, curtly, letting Jackie know she could be a friend during this time—Jenny did pride herself on a cool head in times of crisis.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and when she checked it and saw that it was her father, she made a mental note to call him back in a minute—he probably just needed help with some of her college paperwork, and that could wait.

* * *

The Colonel glowered at the screen of his laptop, silently demanding the FAFSA complete itself. He furiously wanted to know why, if he was capable of holding off the Taliban with a chair, bringing down Saddam Hussein's regime, and helping liberate Kuwait, he was incapable of filling out some financial forms for his daughter's education.

Growling, he stood up and stormed into the hall to grab his cell phone off the table, muttering to himself the whole way.

Jenny had been gone since this morning—Sundays and Saturday nights were about the only time she saw Gibbs these days, and she'd been up this morning to get him from Quantico and drag him prom dress shopping with her friends. She was supposed to have dinner with him after that, and then spend the night at Nina's. He usually didn't mind her spending the night at friends' houses on school nights because she was such a good student, but tonight he lamented her absence because he needed help filling this crap out for her—and she had neglected to leave her password.

He called her, and received no answer—which annoyed him. He called her again—and again got her voicemail, which annoyed him even more. He finally decided to just call Nina's landline and get direct access to her—it was possible her phone was in her bag or something, and she wasn't using it while she did homework, or whatever they did at their girly sleepovers.

He found the Alexanders' phone number and called it up—and was pleased that Nina's father answered on the first ring in his thick, threatening Russian accent.

"Vasily," Jasper said pleasantly, impeccably good at saying the Russian name with the condescension he usually reserved for people he didn't like—as in, Communists. Not that he didn't like Nina's father, he was simply a product of the Cold War era and he tended to dislike Russians. "Jasper Shepard," he said pleasantly.

"Colonel," Vasily Alexander greeted cordially. "What is it I can be doing for you?"

The Colonel rolled his eyes—the man sounded aggressive and suspicious, and Jasper knew better now why his daughter and her friends referred to him as 'the Czar.'

"I need to speak with Jennifer," he drawled professionally. "She's asked me to fill out this damn FAFSA for her, she's already behind on it," he snorted, making conversation—but before he could go on and do some fatherly bonding over the flightiness of their teenage girls, Vasily interrupted him.

"Jennifer is not here."

"What?" The Colonel barked, sitting up straight.

He smacked his palm down on the desk, taken aback.

"Your daughter is not at my house," Vasily answered bluntly—though he sounded slightly pleased to reveal Jenny's mischief to the Colonel.

"She told me she would be with Nina tonight," growled Jasper, his teeth clenched tightly. "She does not lie to me."

"Well, Colonel, she lied," Vasily said shortly.

Jasper swallowed hard and gave a clipped goodbye before he snapped his phone shut and stood up. His first emotion was fear—what father wasn't afraid when his daughter wasn't where she was supposed to be? But then he considered Vasily Alexander's reaction—if something had happened to Jenny, Nina and Holly would not have gone about their day happily, and he would have been notified—or Vasily Alexander would have been surprised to hear that she was supposed to be there; instead, he seemed to just be silently informing Jasper that Jenny was off doing something else, while she used Nina to cover for her.

As for where she could possibly be, the Colonel didn't exactly have to think very hard.

He glared at the phone in his hand and started to fume. The more he fumed, the more he convinced himself he knew exactly where Jennifer was—and then he decided there was a Marine's apartment in Quantico that was about to get a surprise visit from one pissed off Army Colonel.

* * *

Gibbs was having a sullen staring contest with Banquo when he heard echoing, angry footsteps in the hall outside of his apartment. He ignored it, busy wallowing in self-abuse over how things had gone with Jenny today, until suddenly there was aggressive, violent banging on his apartment door. Banquo hissed at the door and bolted into the bedroom. Gibbs turned and glared warily—he had no clue what the hell he could have done to incite anyone who lived in this complex to such levels of annoyance.

He set his beer down on the coffee table and got up, kicking some video game controllers and one of Jenny's sweatshirts—she'd taken it off, and then left it here after dinner last night, because she'd decided it was too much hassle to put it back on and then shove her coat on over it.

He gave the sweater a sullen look, and marched to the door—the incessant knocking had not stopped, and when he heard the doorknob rattle, he realized the guy—it had to be a guy—on the other side was damn near going to break the metal door down. He wrenched open the apartment door, about to start swearing—and then took a step back when Jenny's father came barging thought the doorway, towering over Gibbs menacingly.

"Where is she?" he demanded viciously, grabbing the door and slamming it shut.

Gibbs stared at him, his eyes wide, leaning back a little to avoid actually going toe-to-toe with the Colonel. He blinked—and when the Colonel's eyes flashed fiercely, he scrambled to find his voice, and what came out was—

"What the hell?" He groused—and then blanched, and hastily added: "Sir?"

"Where the hell is my daughter, boy?" shouted the Colonel, grabbing Gibb's shoulder and holding it in a tight, pinching grip. "Jennifer?" he reminded him sardonically. "Red hair, seventeen years old," he went on threateningly. "I know the two of you didn't think I'd turn a blind eye to her tryin' to bullshit me."

Gibbs stood there a second longer, and then tore himself out of the Colonel's grip and straightened up, narrowing his eyes.

"Jen isn't here," he growled.

The Colonel scoffed at him.

"She's not at Nina's," he growled. "She tells me she's gonna be at Nina's, I find out she's not, I can only assume she thinks she can get away with sleeping over here with you."

"Colonel," Gibbs said loudly, standing is ground. "Jen isn't here—she left for Nina's hours ago," he barked.

He got a little distracted when he realized that—if the Colonel thought Jenny was here, then she hadn't made it to Nina's—the Colonel seemed to realize the same thing, because he blinked, and took a step back, eyes narrow, face still red.

"She's not here?" he asked suspiciously.

"You want to go check the bedroom?" Gibbs asked sarcastically, gesturing.

The Colonel glared at him warningly, and then turned and paced a few feet to the side, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

"Nina's father said she's not there," he said harshly, turning back to Gibbs. "You claim she's not here—"

"It's not a claim, sir, I'm not hidin' her from you," Gibbs interrupted, and this time there was no respect in the way he said _sir_. "I don't spend my time tryin' to get her to break your rules, and I don't corrupt her or make decisions for her. I'm good to your daughter, she's not a little kid anymore, and it's about damn time you got used to me."

He figured he was just riled up because he was stressed over the chill that had fallen on his and Jen's relationship today—but he didn't exactly hold back when he confronted the Colonel, and it didn't quite sink in what he'd said, either.

Jasper Shepard stood staring at him, and Gibbs glared back boldly.

The Colonel looked around the apartment, narrowed his eyes at the sweatshirt on the floor—he recognized his daughter's clothing, particularly if it was something he'd bought her in Germany—and then turned on his heel, wrenching open the door.

He snapped around sharply.

"You have any idea where she is, Corporal?" he asked roughly.

Gibbs set his jaw, and shook his head. The Colonel stormed out, and Gibbs went right after him, making sure to shut the door so Banquo wouldn't get out—he couldn't imagine how upset Jen would be if the kitten got lost or hurt. On the landing, the Colonel realized he was being followed and turned around.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he blustered.

"Lookin' for my girlfriend, sir," retorted Gibbs firmly. "You think I'm gonna sit on my ass if she might be hurt or somethin'?"

The Colonel eyed Gibbs with a blank look on his face, and then turned abruptly and stormed down the stairs—and beckoned once for Gibbs to follow him.

* * *

Four hours later, Jackie hadn't exactly calmed down—they kept going in circles, talking about the unplanned pregnancy, then touching on generic, lame subjects—then back to the baby, then to Jenny's relationship—it was all very chaotic, and Jenny had completely forgotten to check her phone or call her father. It was dark outside, and Jackie was in the kitchen rummaging around for a take-out menu, when Jenny decided to see what she'd missed—and realized she had ten missed calls from her father, and six from Gibbs—and, she discovered, her jaw dropping, _four_ text messages from _Gibbs._

"Shit," she swore, standing up.

She unlocked the phone and went into the kitchen.

"When will Leon be home?" she asked Jackie, pulling up her contacts—she hesitated; should she call Gibbs or her father first—and then she realized, the answer was obvious: Daddy first.

She pressed his number and held the phone to her ear, and there was a sharp, abrupt knock on the door that obscured Jackie's answer.

"That's probably him," Jenny said warily, warning Jackie that they needed to come up with an excuse. "I don't think you want me to be here when you guys discuss this, it's your moment," Jenny started—but Jackie interrupted her.

"Hon, Leon has a key. He wouldn't knock on his own apartment door," she said, looking towards the hall with confusion.

Jenny paused, and took a step back. She indicated she'd get it, and strolled over to the door, phone still to her ear. The line picked up just as she opened the Vance's apartment door—and, in the most surreal experience of her life, her father said: "Hello, Jennifer" over the phone and directly to her face at the same time—because there he was, standing in the doorway, holding his cell phone, and next to him—there was Gibbs.

Jenny stared in shock, and slowly lowered her phone, forgetting to hang up. Her mouth fell open, and she just couldn't find words—what on earth—?

"Who is it?" Jackie called from the kitchen.

"What are you doing here?" Jenny hissed, finally finding a voice—and she directed it at her father; Gibbs had plenty of reasons to be at the Vance's.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Gibbs retorted—and Jenny was surprised it was he, instead of her father, who confronted her.

The Colonel hung up the phone and folded his arms and, to Jenny's utter disbelief, seemed content to let Gibbs question her. Jenny blocked the doorway, her thoughts crashing together, and then she started to realize she had made a mistake in not telling her change of plans and groaned.

"You said you were going to Nina's," Gibbs said tightly.

"You—how—the two of you," Jenny started.

"Your old man tried to break down my door, and then accused me of holding you hostage for a sleepover," Gibbs growled loudly, jerking his thumb back at the Colonel.

Jasper Shepard shot him a withering look, and stepped forward, pushing him aside.

"Jennifer Morgan," he said in a clipped tone. "Do you have any idea what went through my head when Vasily Alexander told me you weren't at his house?"

"You—what reason did I give you to check up on me?" she asked, exasperated. "Why—"

"I needed your FAFSA password," Jasper barked, his eyes narrowing. "You asked me to do all that paperwork for you, and left me no information," he reprimanded sharply. "I just happened to need to contact you, and when I tried, I come to find out you lied about where you were going to be tonight. Might have gotten away with it, otherwise."

Jackie peered around the corner and stepped fully into the hallway, holding a menu in her hand and looking at them warily.

"Leroy," she greeted cautiously.

Jenny rubbed her forehead, pushing her hair back.

"I didn't—_lie,_ I—Dad, I was going to Nina's, I just—I was headed over in a few minutes, Jackie—she called me, she needed a friend—it's a _girl_ crisis," Jenny paused, frustrated, feeling awkward trying to navigate this with them all staring at her—and she was still wary around Jethro because of earlier.

She shrugged, exasperated.

"I should have told you I changed plans—I am sorry," she realized, giving him that.

"I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere," The Colonel growled.

"No," Jenny said pointedly, glaring at him. "You thought I was having a secret rendezvous with Jethro, even though I have done everything to show you that I can be trusted, and I told you _that_ wasn't going on—"

The Colonel held up his hand, silencing her—they didn't need to hash that out now, and he was feeling a bit sheepish. He had automatically assumed she was sneaking around with Gibbs, and he had been furious that she'd do something after they'd had those few heartfelt discussions about her being careful, and waiting, and following his rules until she was eighteen—and finding out she'd just made a silly mistake in forgetting to call him, which she'd done hundreds of times before, made him feel a little guilty that he hadn't trusted her.

Particularly since, as annoying as it was, Gibbs had called him out on being so manically, aggressively protective and—essentially, unfair—as well.

Jackie chose that moment to step forward.

"You must be Colonel Shepard," she guessed dryly. She held out her hand. "Jackie Vance—my husband, Leon? His father served with you, in the Middle East," she introduced.

"Vance? Good man," the Colonel said gruffly, composing himself and taking Jackie's hand firmly. "Heard his son's a good one, too. I'll have to congratulate him on what a lovely young woman his daughter-in-law is," Jasper said charmingly.

Jackie smiled, and inclined her head.

"There is nothing inappropriate goin' on, sir," she said calmly. "I did call Jenny in a panic, needin' a woman to talk to. Movin' around with Leon, I don't make many permanent friends," Jackie explained. "Jenny, she's a great girl."

"Thank you, Jackie," the Colonel said crisply, nodding his head.

Gibbs folded his arms, looking from Jenny to Jackie intently, as if he were trying to read their souls. His jaw twitched, and he looked like he was about to say something, but at that moment Leon cleared his throat from between all of them, his eyes on the Colonel warily.

"Leon," Jackie said weakly, smiling faintly.

Jenny sighed, lifted her eyes, and pushed her hand through her hair again.

"Jackie," she muttered, turning to the older girl. "Call me, okay?" she said softly. "I'm sorry about," she gestured.

"Ah, they just love you, hon," Jackie said, leaning forward to hug Jenny. She thanked her quietly, and nodded, composing herself.

Jenny gathered her things and glared at her father and her boyfriend, pointing them out—and to her delight, both of them turned and sort of trudged down to the landing. She spared a fleeting, warm smile for Leon, and winked—Jackie would fill him in on the little drama, and the news that would change his life.

He nodded to her with a polite salute, and when the apartment door closed, she took the stairs two at a time down to the waiting men, stopping on the bottom step and glaring at them.

"You made a mistake, Jennifer," the Colonel said flatly.

"Yes, I did," she said honestly. "I apologize for forgetting to call you—but you tried to bust down Jethro's door, Daddy, are you serious? For the last—Jesus _Christ_, we're not having sex," she growled.

Gibbs cleared his throat gruffly and put his face in his hand, pointedly refusing to look up.

"You could be a little more lenient on Jethro," Jenny said coolly. "The problems we've run into—they've been my idiotic mistakes, or maybe even things I wanted that you don't approve of yet," she said curtly. "I've asked you before to be less suspicious of him. I'm going to start acting like Lindsey Lohan if you're not careful."

Jasper swallowed the urge to grab her and march her insolent ass out to the car for a lick or two with a belt. His instant reaction was annoyance at her being so brazen with him—but then, Jenny had never shied away from butting heads, and in this case, she had a point, even if hashing it out in front of the boyfriend in question was not her best choice.

She pushed her hair back, and her shoulders slumped.

"Daddy, I'll follow you home—my Mustang is out front," she said. "I don't feel like going to Nina's anymore," she muttered, and then glanced at him sideways. "Can I have a minute alone with this idiot?" she asked, jerking her head at Gibbs.

The Colonel held up two fingers—two minutes—and gave them both an intent look, glanced back up at the Vance's apartment, and then took the steps to the exit of the apartment complex. Jenny, her coat tucked over her arms, turned to Gibbs and waited for him to quit covering his face.

"He—how did you find me?" she asked, starting neutral.

Gibbs snorted, his face a little red.

"Your dad," he began seriously, "called the Pentagon and had them trace your phone."

"Well, that's a blatantly reprehensible abuse of power," Jenny deadpanned.

"He was worried, Jen," Gibbs said sharply, and stepped closer. "I was, too," he muttered.

She tucked some hair behind her ears and shrugged—she felt bad that she'd worried them, but she was suddenly nervous.

"What's goin' on?" Gibbs asked, glancing up. "Jackie callin' you, for a crisis?"

"She really doesn't have any girlfriends here, Jethro," Jenny murmured earnestly. "And we've been getting to know each other well, you know, you and Leon are so close…sometimes, she can't go to you guys—"

"What's wrong with her?" Gibbs demanded. "'Cause Leon deserves to know—"

"She'll tell 'im," Jenny placated, reaching out and touching Gibbs' arm. She weighted her options—Gibbs wouldn't tell a soul, so she decided to just be honest, because she needed to reciprocate with honesty if she was going to force him to tell her about his private life. "She's pregnant, Jethro, and she's scared."

Gibbs looked at her in surprise. He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening.

"Oh," he said gruffly, looking up again.

Jenny nodded—there wasn't really much more to say. She stared at her feet for a moment, and then looked up. She bit her lip, and her eyes stung, because she really felt bad for what had happened at the mall.

"Jethro, I'm sorry," she said. "Okay? I—I shouldn't have asked you all those things about those girls, it was personal, and I really—I just…I'm trying to navigate this," she caught her breath, and stopped.

"Ah, Jen," he muttered, looking down at her. He tried to shrug it off. He didn't know what to say, because he didn't like that she was upset, but he was also still mad that she'd brought all that up. "I don't want you thinkin' about all them," he said, frustrated. "They don't matter—now," he caught himself, trying not to sound callous. "Some of 'em did, I don't just—screw around," he stopped abruptly, and he glared at her with such confusion over what he was trying to say that she laughed.

"I know," she said softly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," he reminded her.

"Okay, John Wayne," she teased quietly.

He leaned forward and gave her a kiss, and wiped her cheeks off.

"I didn't lie to you," he said gruffly. "'Bout Shannon, it's…complicated."

She nodded—she understood that, but she was still hurting form how poisonous he'd sounded when he told her his first girl had been Shannon, that girl who always seemed to hang like a raincloud over his head. She hugged him with one arm, pulling him close, and burying her face in his neck for a moment.

"You'll—talk to me about it, some other time," she said, more of an order than a request—it was something that needed to be talked about, anyway.

He just nodded, and she kissed his throat and pulled back, taking a few steps towards the exit. Her father poked his head in the door with a glare as she started down the stairs, and held up his fist—two minutes were up. She laughed, and rolled her eyes.

"Hey, Jen?" Gibbs called gruffly.

"Hmm?" she asked, turning around.

"You want to go to prom?" he asked, thinking of Nina.

She smirked, and shook her head.

"No," she said quietly, and took the steps two at a time to meet the Colonel.

The Colonel glared at her, and then over her head, he looked straight at Gibbs with a sort of narrow, determined expression, and Gibbs sensed he was trying to tell him something—but he wasn't exactly sure what.

* * *

_feedback appreciated ! :)_

_-alexandra_


	16. St Elmo's Fire

_A/N: Yeah the whole first part of this is basically a giant PSA for birth control. [use it.] And oh, oh oh oh ! This is the Gibbs & Colonel bonding chapter ! :D Ah - and someone mentioned that they were afraid Hetty was going to be mentioned in Gibbs' list of past women - nope! But Hetty does make an appearance this chapter..._

_Chapter Fourteen_

_St. Elmo's Fire _

* * *

Considering Jackie Vance's recent sobering surprise, Jenny had decided it was better to be safe than sorry—she'd scheduled an appointment with a gynecologist at Walter Reed Medical Center and decided to suck it up and deal with the questions if her father asked about it.

He hadn't paid much attention to her medically since she'd turned fifteen and started scheduling her own things—dentist and orthodontist appointments, optometrist appointments, check-ups, vaccinations—and he hadn't done anything but grunt and nod when she told him she had an appointment to go to, but she was willing to bet he'd get a little more wary when the bill showed up on insurance.

He seemed to know every damn enlisted doctor at Walter Reed, anyway, so she was grudgingly willing to bet he knew who Dr. Henrietta Lange was _and_ her specialty.

As it stood, Jenny was lounging around relatively calmly in a private office at the hospital. She'd already talk to her nurse and had an examination—nothing invasive, to her relief, since she wasn't sexually active and was under eighteen. She had her clothes back on and was scrolling through her twitter feed, waiting for Dr. Lange to come back to talk to her, when Holly texted her:

_Did the lady doctor jostle up your hymen yet? ;) _

Jenny winced and glared narrowly at the phone, rolling her eyes at Holly. She ran her tongue over her teeth and rotated her phone, holding it above her face—she was leaning back on the examination table—as she responded:

_No speculum for me, virgins get the sexy poke-and-glance treatment, xoxo_

She smirked and took a moment to thank God she hadn't had to get a pap smear or hang her legs up in stirrups. It hadn't been at all as daunting as she'd expected, and she was glad she hadn't ordered Nina to go with her, or taken Holly up on her offer to come along. She was more comfortable alone, anyway, and she liked the doctor—from what she knew of her.

Holly responded immediately:

_That's such a fucking injustice…I feel discriminated against…I'm calling the ACLU, these lady docs can't just put their metal pincers in some vaginas and not others based on whether or not there's a cherry there ! _

Jenny snorted.

_Why does it have to be cherries? Lemons are better for garnishes_ she texted back.

_No one wants to suck on a lemon, Jenny_ was Holly's snappy response. Three little dots appeared to indicate the cheerleader was still typing, and then the next message popped up quickly: _You should ask them to stir things up anyway, loosen you up for Jethro._

Jenny flushed and gasped aloud in outrage—right as the examination room's door opened, startling the hell out of her. She squeaked quietly in surprise and dropped her phone to the floor. Annoyed at her twitchy antics, she bolted into a sitting position, gritting her teeth, and composed her features, just as Dr. Lange shut the door with a perky click.

She bent, swept up Jenny's cell phone, and handed it to her with a wry twinkle in her eye.

"There's no need to be nervous, dear, I've already seen you with your knickers at your ankles," she teased—and it was absurdly comical and soothing, coming from such a short, old, and wise woman.

Jenny refused to explain that she wasn't nervous, she was slightly mortified, and so she smiled and tucked her phone into a pocket on her heavy cardigan, her lips curling a little sheepishly. She pushed her hair back and compressed her lips, tilting her head as Dr. Lange pulled up a stool and perched upon it, fashionable glasses sitting primly on her nose.

"You seem to be in good health, Miss Shepard," she said amiably. "This is your first examination with a gynecologist?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Nonsense, don't ma'am me; we're quite on a first name basis—it's the least I can do, as I haven't bothered to purchase you dinner first," Dr. Lange reprimanded wryly. "You may call me Hetty."

Jenny raised her eyebrows and giggled, gritting her teeth to keep from bursting into more raucous laughter—she was suddenly ridiculously glad she'd chosen to see Dr. Lange instead of the male option, whom she'd considered at first.

"You're here to discuss birth control?" Dr. Lange asked.

Jenny nodded curtly in response.

"And—tell the truth now, dear—I'll ask again: are you sexually active?"

"No."

"Have you ever been?"

"No," Jenny answered again. She tilted her head suddenly. "Wait, define active?"

Dr. Lange arched an eyebrow her, and pursed her lips in amusement.

"Penetration with male penis, in this case, dear."

"Yeah. No."

Dr. Lange stared at her.

"No," Jenny clarified, blushing. She sighed. "I've never had sex."

"Are you seeking birth control for cramps, irregular period, or sexual activity…?" began Dr. Lange, feeling around.

Jenny cleared her throat.

"I have regular periods, they're pretty run of the mill, with cramps," she said, making a distasteful face. "I have a—serious, um, serious boyfriend," she said, stumbling a little, and then forcing herself to be an adult.

"Then you're planning on having sex?"

Jenny cocked her head, and smiled a little, chewing on her lip.

"I'm taking precautions," she answered levelly. "I want the birth control taken care of _if_ and when the sex happens."

"Smart girl," Dr. Lange said simply, marking something on a clipboard and looking up. She peered over the rim of her glasses at Jenny. "And you say there's no reason to factor your period into this, no unbearable cramps, brutal pre-menstrual symptoms?"

"No ma'am—Hetty."

Dr. Lange nodded.

"What kind of birth control are you interested in?"

Jenny blinked at her mutely. She had practiced what she was going to say almost to the letter, but her brain apparently decided it didn't remember any of the research she'd done, and all she said was:

"Um."

Dr. Lange smiled good-naturedly, her nose crinkling slightly.

"You girls these days are lucky," she said bluntly. "There are many more options than there were when I was young," she snorted, and cocked an eyebrow. "Much less mess, as well, though if you've got your heart set on a diaphragm, I won't stand in your way."

Jenny lifted her eyes, grinning, and shaken out of her moment of blankness. She laughed quietly and lifted her shoulders.

"Two of my friends are on the pill," she said. "They both swear by it…but one recently got pregnant while using it," Jenny paused, "she definitely admits to screwing up and taking it with antibiotics, and the other friend has never had a problem, but Ja—my pregnant friend, that freaked me out," she admitted.

"Negligent use of the pill often results in unplanned pregnancies," Dr. Lange said flatly, nodding her head. "It's responsible of your friend to admit she slipped up. The pill is common for girls in your age group, as it's relatively inexpensive and not invasive—"

"I'm vigilant," Jenny interrupted. "The last thing I want is to get pregnant, so I'd be a drill sergeant about taking the pill—but I know missing one can throw the whole thing off balance, and even really careful girls forget or make mistakes, so I am wondering what my more failsafe options would be," she stated—finally finding the words she'd memorized.

"Ah," Dr. Lange said, glancing down at her clipboard. "You have an advantage there in that you're a military dependent, so your health coverage is extensive enough to minimize the cost of long term things—options being tri-monthly shots, or invasive devices such as IUDs or upper-arm implants."

"I don't want the shot," Jenny said quickly. "It's convenient, but I don't want to keep up with specific dates and times to get it to keep it working—I think I narrowed it down to IUDs or the implant, but," she paused.

"You have doubts about IUDs," Dr. Lange guessed astutely, and then lifted her chin and went on firmly. "They're highly successful, and the most widely used form of contraception these days—they're most effective in women who have already had babies, but you could easily use one—"

"Wait—so if I've never had a baby, it might be more likely to fail?"

"It's more likely to cause you cramps or heavy bleeding for a while after insertion, or to slip out of place during intercourse, which is risky in that it's the moving that causes pregnancy to occur," Dr. Lange corrected. She tilted her head. "Even in women with no children, IUDs are highly effective, and most women are satisfied with them."

Jenny chewed her lip. She tapped her arm.

"What about the arm thingy?" she asked.

Dr. Lange mulled it over.

_"Implanon_ has been very recently approved, just last year in fact," she said. "It's more expensive, and it's not as popular—though it's probably the most effective. It has to be replaced every three years, whereas the IUDs last for ten—and in both cases, upon removal, fertility capabilities return without difficulty," she explained. "It's a matter of preference."

Jenny looked at her warily for a moment, and then leaned forward.

"If I get an IUD, and I have sex," she began, feeling a little silly, "is there a chance he can…the guy, can he like…hit it? Or feel it?" she asked, lowering her voice.

Dr. Lange chuckled, resting her clipboard on her knees.

"It's highly unlikely, unless your young man is built similar to a whale," she remarked frankly—and Jenny stared at her, cheeks flushing a little. Dr. Lange inclined her head. "However, it can happen—in which case, you return to me, and I can cut the strings on the IUD a bit shorter, which solves the problem."

Jenny chewed on her lip, nodding. She leaned back on her palms and considered Dr. Lange intently, thinking about the options for a moment.

"No pill, no shot," she said slowly. "I don't want to fumble around with condoms," she added in a mutter, somewhat mollified. She raised her eyes semi-confidently. "I think—I want to try the IUD," she decided, her mouth dry suddenly—she hadn't thought it would feel so weird and—well, monumental—to decide on birth control but—it did, and she was taken aback for a moment.

Dr. Lange nodded and stood up.

"Brilliant," she said. "You'll need to schedule an appointment to have it inserted—there will be some discomfort, particularly since you've never been sexually active, but it's nothing to fear," she said-matter-of-factly. "If you can schedule the appointment on the day after the last day of your period, the IUD will be effective immediately; if not, you'll need to wait until after your cycle to begin having sex, or you risk pregnancy."

"I don't think that will be a problem," Jenny said dryly, cocking an eyebrow—she didn't need it to be effective immediately, she just wanted the safety net and the relief of knowing _something_ was there. She'd schedule the appointment as soon as possible, regardless of when her period was, and then she'd follow the instructions.

"You have any other questions, Jenny?" Dr. Lange asked, holding her hand out.

Jenny took it, squeezing confidently and shaking the older woman's hand warmly.

"No," she said. "Thank you, Hetty," she added.

Hetty smiled at her wryly and nodded, the sharp, curved edges of her straight hair brushing against her chin.

"Safe sex is my pleasure, and yours," she said slyly, and Jenny grinned. "Do remember—an IUD alone will work fine on its own if you're in a committed relationship with someone whom you know is free of diseases, but if you were to have casual sex, it's best to still use a condom."

Jenny nodded again, chewing on the inside of her lip. She smiled and inclined her head.

"What now?" she asked.

"Now, you wait for my nurse to return and stick you with that HPV shot," Dr. Lange said frankly. "You can have sex without getting the full round of HPV vaccinations, as long as you're sure your partner is clean," she reminded her.

Jenny nodded, and Henrietta Lange bowed out of the room—shutting the door firmly behind her. Jenny poked her arm where she'd get the shot and frowned, not too pleased about getting it—Holly had whined that it hurt. Jenny relaxed back on the table and grabbed her phone, grimly thinking about what Dr. Lange had said—about getting the IUD inserted.

She pulled up her earlier messages, and texted Holly:

_Spoke too soon…it looks like Gibbs isn't going to be the first thing inside me :/_

Holly's reply was racy and sarcastic as ever:

_Yeah, no shit, Jenny, tell his cock to get in line behind tampons, lady doctors, and in the spirit of our blunt girls-do-it-too, I'm guessing your fingers beat him, too. _

Jenny parted her lips and glared at the prim text message—she flexed her hand and bit her lip with a small smirk.

* * *

These days, it was rare if Jenny was home on a Saturday evening. Her high school schedule and Gibbs' sniper training schedule clashed horribly, and weekend nights were usually the only times they were together for long stretches—but she had a brutal Chemistry test coming up, and a history test, _and_ a debate competition, so she'd decided to take the weekend to just be Jenny and relax and study some. That—and she didn't exactly feel well since she'd had her IUD inserted, so she was letting that discomfort run its course.

She also wasn't one hundred percent sure she wanted to tell Gibbs the birth control was taken care of in case he interpreted it as a immediate 'green light.' She didn't want to get his hopes—_up_.

She had been alternating between studying for her Chemistry test and reading a slew of increasingly ridiculous _Cosmopolitan_ articles—at this point she wasn't sure if it was even wise to take some of the alleged sex advice in these magazines—and in the past ten minutes since she'd heard her father come home, he had prowled past her half-opened bedroom door approximately four times.

She couldn't be bothered to go greet him—though she was curious what had kept him at the Navy Yard literally all day on a Saturday—and he clearly wanted to discuss something with her, or he wouldn't be stalking around like a huge awkward jungle father cat—

"Dad," she said loudly, when he walked past the door again.

He disappeared, and then casually took a few steps back and peered in.

"Jennifer," he greeted pleasantly.

She arched an eyebrow at him and chewed on her gum for a moment, eyeing him warily. Ike heaved himself up from his place on her floor and stared at the Colonel, wagging his tail pleasantly. The Colonel glared at the dog, and tilted his head at Jenny.

"Where's Gibbs?" he grunted.

Jenny shrugged a little.

"With the guys, probably," she guessed—after all, just because she was listless and staying in, didn't mean he was. Tobias and Gibbs had taken it upon themselves to 'deal' with Leon, or so Gibbs said, since he was absolutely freaking out about being a father, and the boys were trying to hide it from Jackie. "I've got to study," she added primly.

Her father eyed her books and nodded. His lips quirked up in a bit of approval, and then he narrowed his eyes and gave her a very stern and composed look.

"Does Gibbs golf?" he asked abruptly.

Jenny blinked.

"Um," she uttered, startled. "He took me to a Putt-Putt course once—"

"Doesn't count, Jenny."

"He got twelve hole-in-ones!"

"That's not golf," growled the Colonel, interpreting her pitiful answer as a no. He turned on his heel and marched off.

Jenny stared after him, listening as he stomped down the stairs in a mood. She looked at Ike, shrugged her shoulders, and went back to flipping through her magazine idly while she scanned electronic notes on her laptop.

"Ike," she said, calling the dog over conversationally. "You were such a smart president," she murmured, eyeing the economic policies of the military industrial complex. She popped her gum loudly, muttering under her breath as she stretched to pet Ike without moving too much.

She was adjusting the heating pad on her stomach when her father materialized in her doorway again.

She looked at him warily.

"Gibbs like Football?" he asked gruffly.

Jenny stared at him. She stopped chewing, and tried to figure out where the hell the Colonel was going with these sorts of questions—also, she wasn't about to tell him Gibbs' 'team' was the arch rival of the Cowboys, who happened to be the Colonel's pride and joy.

"Football season's over," Jenny pointed out.

Her father glared at her, and skulked off. Jenny shot a look at Ike and lowered her voice.

"Let me know if you see any marbles, bud," she whispered. "Daddy's lost his."

She had barely gotten the words out when the Colonel strolled by again and peeked in—and she slapped her magazine shut, effectively freaked out by his shady behavior. She glared at him aggressively, and he looked right back, ignoring her look.

"He builds things, right?" he demanded. "He built you that little boat? And that—you said a scratching post for that kitten he bought you? He's some carpenter?"

"Just like Jesus," Jenny deadpanned.

"Does he fish?"

She narrowed her eyes and knit her brows.

"Yeah, Daddy, he likes fishing—what is wrong with you?" she demanded bluntly, cocking an eyebrow sharply. "If you've suddenly taken a fancy to Gibbs, the massive dysfunction of it will wake Sophocles from the dead."

The Colonel gave her a glare to end all glares, and then leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms and setting his shoulders back like the commanding military official he was. She got the distinct impression he had no idea how to say what was about to come out of his mouth—

"I have made the executive decision to 'hang out' with him."

-which was probably why it sounded so painfully awkward.

Jenny stared at her father with a completely blank face, focusing intently on remaining neutral and not bursting into peals of laughter. She figured that was the last thing Jasper Shepard needed right now. Instead, she tilted her head in a very non-threatening way and simply said:

"Oh?"

"_Mano-a-mano_," the Colonel asserted gruffly, nodding curtly.

At that, Jenny did surrender to an impish smirk, and bit her lip to hold back a laugh—she snorted, and clutched her arm around her middle, pressing her heating pad into her stomach and composing herself for some self-control.

"And you want to—what, _build_ something with him? You've never been into woodwork—Dad, since when do _you_ fish? Fishing bores you," she began, still struggling not to laugh. She failed slightly, and laughed hoarsely, shaking her head. "What the hell—you—_why_?" she asked, exasperated.

Her father gave her a withering look, as if it were obvious, and she took a deep breath and looked right back at him, eyebrows up.

"Seriously?" she prompted. "He's—he's Corporal Kiss-Ass, remember? Synonymous with the Taliban?" she drawled. "What's with the sudden—why do you want to _man_ date him?"

The Colonel gave her quite the outraged glare and set his jaw. He lifted his chin, and then inclined his head, looking at a fixed point somewhere on Ike's thick, dark coat.

"He is in your life, Jennifer," Jasper said shortly. "He has earned," the Colonel paused, and glowered, "at minimum, an _ounce_ of my respect," he allowed grudgingly, though Jenny could sense her father thought very much of Gibbs.

She started to smile, and he looked at her sharply.

"That boy told me off," he informed her in a growl.

"He did?" she asked warily.

"He told me to get the hell off his back," Jasper said curtly. "Implied I wasn't givin' him the respect he deserved for treatin' you right and obeyin' my restrictions."

Jenny smiled softly, and the Colonel grit his teeth.

"Figured he was right," he admitted. He set his jaw a moment and eyed his daughter thoughtfully. "Doesn't seem like he's goin' anywhere," he remarked vaguely, fishing for her feelings.

She shook her head, compressing her lips.

"No," she agreed, smiling a little. "I like him a—_lot_, Daddy," she admitted, quietly earnest. "I think he likes me, too."

The Colonel nodded sharply again, standing up straight and putting his hands at his back—more of a natural inclination for him, in all his Army training, than an actual show of standing at ease for his daughter.

"I should get to know him, then," he said firmly.

"You want to bond with him," Jenny teased.

"Jennifer."

"You want to _bond_ with my _boyfriend_," she sang, tilting her head, and smirking. "That's so precious Daddy—you promise me, you'll take pictures, and I want you to hug him at least once—you'll have to fight 'im, but," she broke off, and brightened. "You guys should go boxing!" she suggested—Marines and soldiers were all trained in combat—

"Bad idea," the Colonel said dryly. He cocked an eyebrow. "Fishing?" he demanded gruffly.

"It's—Dad," Jenny said, pushing her hair back. "You know—he's legal; you both like whiskey. Take 'im to the Army-Navy club and smoke a cigar and yell at each other over whether bourbon or scotch is better," she suggested lightly.

"What if conversation lags?" the Colonel asked dryly—and Jenny smirked slightly at the insecurity.

"You two will figure it out—leave me out of this."

"Jennifer, you know him better than I do," the Colonel tried sternly.

"True, but I have no interest in what the two of you do on your…sausage fest," she muttered, turning her nose up. She peeked at him, noted the annoyed look on his face, and rolled her eyes. "Whiskey, cigars," she suggested again. She cocked her head. "But don't let him smoke one; he'll taste gross. And he'll smell."

Her father looked delighted.

"Excellent; I'll make sure he has five."

Jenny rolled her eyes and mimed shooing him away.

"Go," she growled. "Go—call _my_ boyfriend for your _date_," she teased.

He glared at her thunderously and started to leave—and for a final time, took a step back and eyed her, taking in her nest of pillows and tea and heating pads and grungy clothing—and the wet washcloth tied around her head like a headband.

"You sick?"

"I don't feel good," Jenny answered vaguely.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked, concerned.

She shot him a pointed look.

"I have cramps," she answered loudly, narrowing her eyes.

He blinked at her. She realized he hadn't ever heard her complain about them before, because she'd never really had them—these were just a result of the IUD getting situated.

"Is it serious?" he asked dumbly. "Appendicitis?"

She snorted, arching her eyebrows.

"It's a woman thing, Dad," she warned sharply.

"This have anything to do with that insurance statement?" he asked astutely. "You saw Hetty at Walter Reed," he noted sharply, reiterating that he knew everything—and she could hardly fool him.

He glared at her warily, and she kept her face neutral—she didn't want him to ask if she'd decided to go on birth control, because she didn't know if that fell under the 'after eighteen' agreement they had; and he seemed to decide he didn't want to know—but he kept staring at her, so she cocked an eyebrow and leaned forward.

"I had her insert a chastity belt," she whispered dramatically.

The embarrassed, slightly annoyed, confused, and altogether pained look on the Colonel's face was well worth the sass.

* * *

On the fateful day that Colonel Jasper Shepard ordered Corporal Leroy Jethro Gibbs to—for lack of a better term, "hang out"—with him, Jenny decided to spend the afternoon and evening after her work shift at her boyfriend's apartment. She intended to study, devote herself to some research on which college she might choose when the time came, and play with her kitten—Banquo was getting quite large, and since Jenny refused to de-claw him, Gibbs demanded she keep his claws nicely taken care of so the nefarious feline wouldn't be able to scratch him so viciously.

_Gibbs_ called it vicious, but Jenny was sure Banquo was just being affectionate—whenever she played with him, he just cuddled with her and swatted her playfully and did adorable and hilarious pounce-y things.

Work had sucked this morning, and she'd gotten a Chemistry test back yesterday that—while the grade was acceptable—didn't reflect how much studying she'd done, and she was grimly accepting that AP Chemistry was just kicking her ass, even in the face of her hard work. The only upside was there was no way Gibbs could be blamed, so she didn't feel guilty or wary that she was being a silly girl—she was just better at other subjects.

She'd diligently done some work, prepared an argument for an upcoming debate competition, and lazily researched the colleges she'd applied to more extensively—it looked like Notre Dame had totally badass housing options—and then she'd called Jackie Vance to see if she was free to bum around for a while, and so that Saturday evening while the Colonel and Gibbs were out, she and Jackie ended up watching a movie marathon of eighties films—starting with _St. Elmo's Fire_—in Gibbs' apartment.

"Everyone in this movie sucks," Jackie pointed out, cocking an eyebrow at the screen.

"That's why it's so good," Jenny responded with a snort, picking through a bowl of Chex Mix for her favorite pieces—she knew Gibbs was going to be pissed when he went to eat it and only the little brown baked bread pieces and brown Chex were left, but that was his problem. He'd eaten her leftover cheesecake from dinner last week instead of saving it for her to come get it the next day.

"You _like_ wantin' to slap every character in a movie?" Jackie asked skeptically.

"Well, think about it this way," Jenny said, crunching on her snack. She pointed to the screen. "You're stressed because you're pregnant, but at least Leon isn't like Rob Lowe or Judd Nelson in this movie."

Jackie considered it a moment, and then laughed.

"Nah, he's more like Ricky Ricardo in the episode when Lucy has the baby," she laughed. "You know, the other day he asked me when we needed to book a hospital room."

"_Book a hospital room_?"

Jackie nodded, laughing silently. Jenny grinned.

"You tell him it doesn't work like that?"

"I told 'im I wanted to have a home birth, and managed to keep a straight face."

Jenny burst into laughter, shaking her head. She crossed her legs and sat forward, tossing Banquo a piece of Chex Mix. He sniffed it, licked it, and then started to bat it around; Jenny turned around, shaking her hair back and arching her brows at Jackie.

"But Leon is getting used to the idea, right?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah," Jackie sighed. "We both are. He was real excited, and then he completely freaked out, and now he's just asking a lot of questions."

"That seems normal."

"They're dumbass questions," Jackie snorted. "He woke me up last night to ask if it was a boy or a girl, like I'm a damn psychic."

Jenny grinned, biting her tongue.

"You want a boy or a girl?" she asked.

Jackie tilted her head.

"I think that's the last thing 'm concerned about right now," she admitted. "Healthy is a good thing to hope for." She paused and seemed to think for a minute. "Both of my sisters have boys, though," she said. "Leon would be more gentle with a baby girl," she laughed.

"Men are so weird with babies," Jenny agreed, rolling her eyes. "It's like they think baby girls are breakable, but they just put sunglasses on baby boys and take pictures of them holding beer bottles—"

"Idiots," said Jackie, rolling her eyes. "I've got my first ultrasound appointment in a couple days, I figure Leon will calm down after that," she mused.

"Can you _tell_ if it's a boy or a girl yet?" Jenny asked.

Jackie glared good-naturedly.

"You're just as bad as him—I think I'll tell them not to tell me, just to make you 'n' Leon squirm," she teased. "I'm not far enough along yet," she added. She narrowed her eyes at Jenny. "Do you even _like_ babies?" she asked skeptically.

Jenny shrugged. She hadn't really thought about it. She'd never been around them—at all, really. She had no siblings, no cousins—she used to babysit before she was old enough to legally work, but those children had been school-aged, and she'd supervised them after school.

"I like you," Jenny said pointedly. "I'm fascinated—I've never had a pregnant friend before."

"That's a good thing," Jackie said dryly, and Jenny nodded, agreeing—considering her age, it definitely was. Jackie shifted and grabbed her water off Gibbs' coffee table, giving the cat a wary look as he purred and stared at her. She turned back to Jenny and arched an eyebrow. "What about you, girl?" she asked, nodding at Jenny's open laptop. "College?" she prompted.

Jenny lifted her shoulders.

"I won't get most acceptances until April," she said slowly. She inclined her head. "I…am leaning towards Georgia, or Notre Dame, or Vanderbilt. _Really_ Vanderbilt," she chewed her lip for a moment. "I really like Heidelberg, but I don't think I really want to go abroad for college."

Jackie whistled.

"I know someone else who wouldn't like that," she teased lightly, licking her lips. "What are you and Leroy gonna do when you fly off to," she gestured vaguely, "wherever you go."

Jenny looked at her, blinking slowly, and then shrugged.

"He hasn't brought it up," she said. She tilted her head uncertainly. "I'm not—well, I'm very…picky about men," she said. "Jethro is the first man I've seriously dated, but I don't feel constrained by that," she mulled it over aloud, slowly, and licked her lips. "I'm not of the mind that I should break up with him just because I'm going to college…I'm not the type who wants to randomly hook up or anything and I love—Jethro means a lot to me," she amended quickly, slurring her words together so quickly she stunned herself. She cleared her throat loudly, ignored what she'd said, and went on: "I have this feeling in my gut that I don't want to break up with him, I just wonder how he'd react to long distance," she muttered.

Jackie tilted her head back with a wide smile and laughed.

"Honey, don't be dense," she said shortly, laughing. "He's a Marine, he knows damn well long-distance is a part of anything he'll ever have—and that man is _not_ gonna say no to you, no matter how far he's gotta go."

Jenny flushed and rolled her eyes, mollified by the meaning behind Jackie's words.

"You make it sound like he's a moonstruck fool or something," she muttered.

Jackie raised her brows.

"You tellin' me he's never given you any indication that he _is_ a moonstruck fool?" she demanded. "That Leroy—such a damn male about emotion," she growled, clicking her tongue.

Jenny shrugged.

"He's not, really," she remarked thoughtfully. "He's not a fountain of feeling or anything, but I would hate it if he was—he's just guarded," she said. "I think he thinks he's gonna lose people," she muttered. She rested her hand in the bowl of Chex Mix and chewed her lip for a moment. "It almost makes it mean more."

"Makes what mean more? He hasn't said anything!" Jackie laughed.

"Yeah, but if he _does,"_ Jenny retorted quietly. She turned up her nose a little and leaned back, tossing another cracker at the cat and arching an eyebrow up at Jackie. "You know somethin' I don't?" she demanded slyly.

"You 'n' I both know Gibbs is an old fashioned guy," Jackie said simply, shrugging her shoulders. "I'm happy you ain't thinking of breaking it off with him, because," she paused carefully. "I don't know if he'd be able to take it."

Jenny pursed her lips, her brows furrowing slightly. She smiled a little warily, not sure how credible Jackie's thoughts on the matter were—sure, Jackie was perceptive, and she and Vance knew Gibbs impossibly well, but still—it was flattering in an overwhelming sense to think he might care that much about her; it was so daunting that she was almost relieved they'd made no declarations or commitments.

"So, what's your old man doing to him?" Jackie asked lightly.

Jenny arched a brow at the quick subject change, and then broke into a smirk, clicking her tongue slowly.

"Oh, the usual—trick questions, impossible tests, physical intimidation," she laughed, shaking her head. "When I told Jethro Daddy was gonna call him—he didn't speak to me for an hour," she revealed.

"Pansy," snorted Jackie, cackling. "It'll be good after this though—"

"If it goes well—"

"Yeah, so long as Gibbs doesn't let that deadpan attitude get the best of him," Jackie agreed. She shook her head fondly.

"Did your Dad give Leon a hard time?" Jenny asked.

Jackie shook her head.

"Nah, Leon's a good one," she said warmly. "He was such a good man, compared to the guys my sisters were runnin' 'round with."

Jenny nodded, glancing at the television for a moment, and then turned and leaned on the couch, placing her Chex bowl up there to offer Jackie some. Jackie reached for it, and Jenny met her eyes intently, tilting her head.

Jackie rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

"Go on, ask," she said, intuitively realizing Jenny needed an 'I don't have a big sister' question answered.

"How old were you when you and Leon-?"

"Sixteen," Jackie said firmly, cocking a brow. "Ooh, you bet your ass it was prom night, and all of three minutes, too—_don't_ tell 'im I told you that."

Jenny laughed, compressing her lips in amusement.

"You regret it?" she asked.

Banquo jumped onto Jackie's lap, and Jackie made room for the cat, stroking his ears. She made a humming sound, sighed, and tilted her head, clicking her tongue in a moment of reflection.

"I did it 'cause everyone else was, and no one ever told me there were options besides doing it when the guy said_ let's do it_," she decided. "Now, don't get the wrong impression, Leon was never aggressive with me, but I just didn't think to _think_ when he said 'let's do it.'" Jackie paused again. "I don't regret it, no," she said slowly, "but, I think that's 'cause I married Leon," she said frankly. "I _like_ that Leon's my only man," she shrugged. "Doesn't mean it will be that way for you, or that you have to think of it like you're savin' yourself or somethin', 'cause I think all that stuff about marriage meaning less if you've been with other people is bullshit."

Jenny pushed her hair back and chewed on her lip, smirking a little.

"I think I'm going to have sex with Jethro," she confided, arching her brow.

Jackie snorted, lifting her chin smugly.

"You want me to send 'im an engraved invitation for you?" she joked wryly.

Jenny compressed her lips again and giggled, tilting her head back, and Jackie just shook her head good-naturedly at the younger woman—she may have been wary of Jenny at first, but she had to admit, it was refreshing to have the little virgin Colonel's daughter around—and she did mean it when she said Gibbs certainly thought the world of her.

* * *

It wasn't until six hours in to his alleged _bonding _with Colonel Shepard that Gibbs began to accept that this wasn't an elaborate trick—Jenny's father was genuinely, in a gruffly aggressive, awkward way, attempting to forge some sort of connection. Gibbs figured that was a damn good sign, since he'd been busting his ass since day one to make sure he had the Colonel's trust and approval at all times.

He was glad Jen had warned him that Shepard was going to do this, or he'd have completely blanked on what to do when the Colonel called him and ordered him to report to the Bull Run shooting range at three in the afternoon on Saturday. Gibbs had subjected himself to Jenny's teasing, and then obediently reported at the appointed time. Shepard had glared at him for half an hour, and then introduced him to a retired drill sergeant whom he'd served with in Bosnia—and then they'd spent the entire afternoon at the range, completing the whole course and engaging in a few rounds of—presumably friendly—competition.

Now, at the bar at the Army-Navy club, Gibbs was silently wondering if it had been considered _friendly_ or _prudent_ to kick the Colonel's ass in the last three rounds—as Shepard had a dark look on his face, and kept glaring aggressively at him. Gibbs bore it warily.

The Colonel rapped on the bar sharply and put in an order to the bartender.

"Scotch, neat," he grunted, taking two cigars from his pocket and tossing them on the counter. He shot an expectant look at Gibbs and jerked his chin at the bartender. "Cat got your tongue, boy, or did you turn into a prohibitionist on me?" he demanded.

Gibbs glared at him mildly, unsure if this was a trap—the Colonel had warned him not to drink around Jenny, but Jenny wasn't technically here—

"Son, you're of age, it's not a trap," the Colonel informed him loudly.

"Jim Beam, neat," Gibbs said immediately, deciding to accept the offer before he got himself in more trouble.

The Colonel snorted, and nodded to the bartender. He pulled out something to clip the cigars with and started unraveling one, shooting Gibbs a look out of the corner of his eye.

"Didn't hold back with that rifle did you, Corporal Taliban?" he grunted shortly.

Gibbs set his jaw and tilted his head.

"Thought you'd think less of me if I let you win, sir," he retorted frankly—it had been a substantial internal debate. He had thought etiquette might indicate he let his girlfriend's father win, but then again—he was in sniper training school, and if he gave Shepard the impression he couldn't hack it after specialized training, the Colonel might lock Jenny away for fear she was involved with an incompetent idiot.

Gibbs had opted for the riskier option—

"You're damn right," the Colonel declared, sticking the cigar between his lips, and sliding Gibbs a small cocktail napkin for his whiskey. "My eyesight can't hold up to a sharpshooter more'n half my age," he grunted frankly. "You got a good eye on you, Gibbs," he remarked.

"Yes, sir," Gibbs agreed.

The Colonel cocked an eyebrow and snorted. He lit his cigar, then removed it from his mouth and shoved the unopened one over to Gibbs, indicating it sharply with his hand. Gibbs put his hand on it, and glanced at the Colonel.

"Jen doesn't like the smell," he ventured stiffly.

"That is exactly why you will smoke the whole thing," the Colonel retorted with a smug look. He grinned at Gibbs, and Gibbs accepted the terms with good grace—the Colonel smoked good cigars, and it was slightly amusing that he was trying to sabotage Jenny in that way.

Gibbs began opening the cigar, and mimicked how Shepard had clipped part of it and lit it. He inhaled, switched to whiskey, and relaxed a little bit more, feeling a bit smug to be in such good graces. He'd been a little wary that he was going to be in for it after he'd gotten aggressive with Shepard over Jenny the other day, but instead this had happened—and he wasn't planning on questioning it.

"You finish up sniper training when?" the Colonel asked abruptly.

"Middle of April," Gibbs answered. "'Bout two weeks after Jen's birthday," he added, for reference.

The Colonel grunted, and glanced at him.

"You doin' somethin' big for her, on her birthday?" he asked.

Gibbs took refuge in his whiskey for a minute.

"Got about as far as a nice dinner, then got stuck," he admitted. He was planning on taking her to Palena—because he remembered she said he owed her that, and he knew she'd forgotten she said it—but though Jenny would enjoy it, she'd also want to do something less uptight, more than likely.

Shepard laughed gruffly.

"I feel you on that one," he sympathized vaguely; shaking his head and nursing his scotch faithfully. "You ask her what she wants?" he inquired, and then turned sharply and glared at Gibbs. "You get her another animal, and I'll rip your head off with my bare hands," he warned.

Gibbs snorted.

"'M not gettin' her another animal," he assured the Colonel hastily. "Cat's a bitch to live with."

The Colonel arched an eyebrow.

"The _cat's_ a bitch to live with?" he repeated, smirking. "You better not plan on gettin' married then, son," he chuckled. He narrowed his eyes suddenly and pointed at Gibbs sharply around his cigar. "You don't get her a goddamn ring for her birthday, either," he ordered. "She's too young."

"Isn't that up to her?" Gibbs retorted boldly, before he could quite think about what he was saying.

Shepard looked taken aback slightly, and yanked the cigar from his mouth, twisting it around his fingers. He scrutinized Gibbs.

"You weren't gonna get her a ring," he said, half a question, half a sure statement.

Gibbs shook his head, his jaw set mildly—he really hadn't even had that thought in his head at all. He just didn't necessarily think Shepard should dictate when Jenny was old enough to get married, if Jenny herself wanted to. The Colonel kept looking at him intently, and then placed the cigar back in his mouth and turned back to his scotch. He reached for a bowl of peanuts on the bar and pulled it closer, gathering some in his fingers.

"She'd balk," he growled, snorting to himself. "She's never thought much of her mother for marryin' me so young."

"She's different," Gibbs muttered.

The Colonel shot him a look.

"She's different, but that doesn't change that she's got some of her Mom in 'er," he said frankly. "It ain't just that she looks like 'er, either. Kimmy—that's my wife—she was a messed up girl," he added bluntly. "Story for another time. She ran off on Jennifer, and I won't forgive 'er for that, but Jenny doesn't understand how hard it was for us startin' off, and Kimmy was too young to handle it. Her parents realized too late they'd spoiled her almost useless, and Jenny's determined to do the exact opposite of anything Kimberly ever did, even if it means ignoring circumstances that may look the same but are different."

Gibbs considered the Colonel for a moment—he almost understood what Shepard was thinking out loud about. He figured he was trying to warn him Jenny was going to turn and run once college came, and try to get out of tying herself down—but Gibbs wasn't so sure that was what was going to happen. He figured—maybe he should bring it up, at least tell Jen he didn't want to lose her just because she was going to school—but he didn't know how to stay stuff like that without sounding like an idiot, and there was other stuff to address first—he had to clear up the Shannon mess, before anything else.

He couldn't think of what to say, and he didn't want to discuss anything personal about him and Jen, so he said—

"Wife?" and took a drag on his cigar. "Jen said she ran out on you."

The Colonel smirked wryly and shrugged.

"Never would have crossed Kimmy's mind to slap me with the paperwork," he grunted nostalgically. He shrugged. "Never bothered to do it myself."

"Does Jen know you're still married?" he demanded, slightly annoyed—he felt like if that were a secret, Jenny would absolutely lose it if she ever found out.

The Colonel laughed dryly.

"Oh she knows," he confirmed. "She hates it, doesn't understand it, thinks I'm an idiot," he listed.

"Naw," Gibbs said immediately, shaking his head. "Not that last one. Jen thinks you're God."

"I told her I was God when she was four," Shepard answered seriously. He pointed his cigar at Gibbs before placing it back in his mouth. "Take note," he suggested. "You tell your kids you're God, they behave," he asserted. He paused. "Until idiot Marines come along and give 'em alcohol on Halloween," he growled.

Gibbs blinked placidly, refusing to respond to that. He grit his teeth.

"What're you gonna tell the man upstairs when you're dead?" he asked bluntly.

"Reckon he knows a little 'bout raisin' reckless kids."

"That's blasphemy, Colonel," Gibbs pointed out, deadpan.

"When you've fought in hell, you earn the right to mock paradise," the Colonel retorted smartly, and took a drink of scotch.

He turned slightly to Gibbs and looked at him intently.

"You've got a hazard tour comin' your way," he remarked frankly. "You keep that in the back of your mind, Corporal," he suggested. "They're gonna send you somewhere bloody."

Gibbs nodded, and shrugged.

"I know what I committed to."

"Yeah, it ain't so simple when you got someone waitin' at home," Shepard said curtly. He hesitated. "I never wanted Jenny involved with some guy in the military," he told him bluntly. "Don't take it personal. I just didn't want her to have to deal with it," he growled. "Times I was over there, thinkin' I wasn't going home this time, I always knew how scary it was for her at home." He shook his head, tapping his tumbler hard. "If you think your number's up for this troop surge we're gonna see here in the next year, you tell her as soon as you think it's gonna happen, you got that?"

"I wouldn't keep her in the dark, sir," Gibbs said firmly.

The Colonel eyed him, and grunted. He nodded.

He didn't believe him, though. Trying to deal with telling loved ones about the first tour duty was never that simple, or that easy.

"Jasper," he muttered, waving his hand permissively.

"I don't want you makin' her think she can't have you if she wants to go to college in—hell, Timbuktu or somethin'," he added. "If you're gonna expect a woman to wait for you in war, you gotta give a woman leave to make you follow her, too," he advised wisely. "Never did give Kimberly much thought when I was off."

"Jen's made for college," Gibbs said, snorting.

"I made sure of that," Colonel Shepard agreed. "My G.I. bill's hers, and when her grandparents died and left her a trust, I locked it until she gets a four year degree," he growled. "She's goin'. You support that, or you lose my support."

Gibbs nodded, and then the Colonel turned and glared at him very seriously.

"And another thing," he growled. "You take my girl to prom," he reiterated sharply, ignoring the look of protest on Gibbs' face. "I don't give a damn what she says. She bought a dress last year, acted like she didn't want to go. Still acts like it. You hear me?"

"Sir," Gibbs said warily. "She's not the type to say one thing and mean another. She's pretty uh," he tried to choose his words carefully. "…straightforward."

"That's polite of you," snorted the Colonel. "I know how she is, and I know she's not full of shit, but trust me on this one: she wants you to take her to prom, and she wants you to do it in your dress blues, and she's too damn proud to eat her words about how dumb prom is."

Gibbs swallowed the advice, and considered it. Nina had said it, the Colonel had mentioned it already—he needed to start making plans to take Jenny to prom, that much was clear. He'd have to call Nina and find out exactly when Alexander Hamilton High's prom was.

He took a long drink of whiskey and glanced at the Colonel.

"How come you want to be my _pal_ all of a sudden?" he asked bluntly.

Shepard considered him sharply, letting him squirm for a minute.

"You didn't think twice when you thought somethin' had happened to my daughter the other night," he said curtly. "You grabbed your coat and went lookin', didn't ask a damn question. I'm not gonna let that kind of loyalty to my kid go without a fight." Shepard cleared his throat and grit his teeth grudgingly for a minute. "And I reckon you were right, I owe you. You been good to her. Not much else I can ask for, as a father."

Gibbs set his jaw in an effort to remain stoic—but he grinned instead. It was an accomplishment, and he should accept it—this was _the_ Colonel Jasper Shepard, giving him high praise.

The Colonel rolled his eyes at him, and scowled.

"Don't get cocky, Jethro," he snapped at him, dragging on his cigar. He narrowed his eyes. "You hurt her, and I'll—"

"Hand me to the Taliban, yeah, got it," Gibbs interrupted smugly, cocking his eyebrow. He looked at his own cigar for a minute, and then gathered together all of his courage and looked at Jenny's father seriously. "What would you think, if I married 'er?" he asked gruffly. "Later," he clarified, catching the Colonel's look.

Shepard snorted, shaking his head. He smirked.

"Tell you what, we'll go by the same rule we had when you asked me if you could take 'er on a date," he drawled. "You can ask 'er all you want—answer's up to her."

Gibbs smirked again, leaning forward and resting his arms on the bar—he'd have to phrase it differently if he ever did ask Jenny, because she hadn't taken kindly to him telling her her father said he could date her last summer—what with the comment about goats and dowries.

"I wouldn't mind," Jasper grumbled, almost to himself. "If she married you."

"How many goats are you gonna give me?" Gibbs asked seriously. "To take her off your hands."

The Colonel laughed, and then he grumbled to himself, and reached into his pocket. He held in his hand an officer's coin, and ran his thumbs over it for a moment before flicking it with practiced nonchalance over into Gibbs' whiskey.

"Figure you're better'n the Taliban," he muttered gruffly, staring straight ahead.

Gibbs tilted his glass forward, glaring down at the coin, and grinned.

* * *

Jenny had long abandoned studying and had the television on CNN when she heard Gibbs open the front door. She was in his bedroom, looking for shirts to steal, and lunged towards the bed to snatch Banquo up and cuddle him close. She strolled out of the bedroom, one flannel shirt slung over her shoulder—she was getting sick of the one she'd already stolen—and peered at him impishly over the cat's head.

He smiled when he caught sight of her and chucked his keys onto the couch.

"You get your work done?" he asked gruffly, throwing himself down on the couch lazily and rolling his eyes when he realized it was the news that was on.

"Mmm-hmm," she purred, sitting down next to him and placing the cat on his chest. He grunted at her in annoyance, and Banquo stuck his face right against Gibbs' nose. Jenny giggled and—so quickly Gibbs didn't even know how she'd accessed her phone—snapped a picture.

He gently pushed the cat away and reached out for Jenny, pulling her closer and kissing her. He was a little damp, so she crinkled her nose and wouldn't let him have a good grip, but she returned the kiss pleasantly and then made a face as she pulled away.

"You smoked a cigar," she accused.

"What was I s'pose to do, refuse him?"

"Grow a pair, Sniper Boy," she retorted, and leaned in to peck him on the cheek, nuzzling her nose up to him. "Is it raining?" she asked.

"Yeah," he agreed, shifting a little—it wasn't raining hard, but it wasn't totally dry outside either. He tried to glance at his watch, but Jenny was trapping his arms with her body, so he angled his head and checked hers. "How long you got, 'bout two hours?" he asked.

"It's Saturday, I can stay until midnight," she said primly, reminding him with a wicked smile.

It had been a recent development that on the weekend day of her choice, she could extend her curfew to midnight—so long as it was only one day.

"You gonna stay?"

"I finished my debate speech and a primary document analysis for history, duh I'm staying," she answered, snuggling up close to him. "I told Jackie she had to bail before you got home. You could use a little girlfriend time, right? After your little Army boot camp," she teased.

He ran his hand through her hair, gently pulling through the tangles, and shrugged. He watched Banquo start to swat at his keys, and nip at them playfully with his kittenish teeth.

"It wasn't that bad," he admitted gruffly, shifting and reaching into his pocket. He turned the officer's coin over in his hand and then touched it to her neck. She squealed at the cold and pulled back, glaring. "He gave me an officer's coin," Gibbs bragged smugly.

Jenny raised her brows.

"My, my," she simpered, taking it and kissing it sweetly. "You'll never buy your own drink again, Corporal," she declared gallantly—and she smiled, pleased that it turned out well.

The coins were part of a game servicemen played—at bars, when one called for a coin, the person with the coin of highest rank received drinks from all the others. Gibbs' highest one had been from the guy who'd challenged him to first deliver the NCIS-CID file to Colonel Shepard and survive; now he had a high-ranking coin from the Colonel himself.

Jenny bit her lip and sat up on her knees, throwing one over his lap and straddling him. She pushed her hands through his hair flirtatiously and shook her hair back, beaming.

"Good," she murmured. "I thought it might be a disaster."

Gibbs scoffed.

"I can handle your old man," he asserted.

Jenny laughed.

"Yes," she agreed. "But the old man, he has a hard time handlin' you," she joked. "Physically, he could take you—"

"Tell that to the skeet shootin' range," Gibbs bragged.

"—but psychologically, you've got him in a headlock," she finished, shooting him a look.

"Hmm," Gibbs muttered, his hands running over the old faded jeans covering her thighs. "Why's that?"

"'Cause," Jenny teased quietly, cocking a brow at him. She shifted closer, smiling when he held her hips against him firmly and slipped his hand under her t-shirt, running his palms over her spine. "You're quite inappropriate with his daughter."

"She likes it," Gibbs growled.

Jenny giggled. She slid her hands from his hair to his neck and pressed closer to kiss him. He unhooked her bra and let the straps fall down her shoulders under her t-shirt, waiting until she loosened her grip on his neck to execute the tricky maneuver that got it off of her without removing her shirt. She squeezed her thighs on either side of his and he pushed her hips down against him insistently, trying to coax her to move.

She shifted her hips teasingly enough—she'd learned, within the limited parameters of how far they'd gone, what felt good for him. She reached for his t-shirt and easily pulled it over his head, running her hands over his chest.

Almost immediately, Banquo caught sight of the gold glint of her wristwatch and pounced, clawing the back of her hand and Gibbs' bicep. Gibbs swore and pushed Jenny back in surprise, turning a vicious glare on the cat. Jenny sighed and glared mildly, narrowing her eyes—couldn't the playful little sweetheart just let them have a little fun?

"He's worse than your dad," growled Gibbs, squeezing her thigh and lifting her off of him easily. He got up and swept Banquo up before the grey kitten knew what was happening. Banquo meowed loudly, and Gibbs marched him towards the bedroom and shut him in, muttering a few affectionate, choice names at him.

"You hurt his feelings," Jenny murmured, turning towards him. She cocked an eyebrow. "You can't be that intimidated by a little pussy," she teased, "cat," she added silkily.

He snorted and came back over, crouching on the floor in front of her. He ran his hand over her knee and up between her legs.

"You'd be surprised," he said under his breath. He put one knee down, and she leaned forward, tilting his head up to continue their kissing. Her hair fell over his shoulders, and instead of pushing it back and running his hands through it, he ignored it—his hands were resting at the button of her jeans cautiously.

She nudged his knee with hers, deciding she'd stop him when she needed to, and he slowly worked the button through and the zipper down. She parted her lips to the kiss and gripped his shoulders tightly.

She laughed suddenly, and he pulled back a moment, eyeing her intently.

"You didn't even buy me dinner tonight," she joked quietly, her lips brushing his. He smirked at her, and straightened up a little. He pulled one hand back and rested it on his knee, the other resting on her thigh. He flicked his eyes over her, letting them linger on her lips for a moment, and she tilted her head, her red hair falling in her eyes.

"Take your jeans off," he requested.

She straightened her head a bit, her lips parting. She blinked at him through her long bangs, and then stood and hooked her thumb into the belt loops. She shimmied them down her thighs, and then took them and tossed them aside as she stepped out of them. She stood there, her fingers clutching the edge of her t-shirt—it hit just at the groove where her hipbones were, and he was looking at her panties, and then he ran his hand up her inner thigh and snatched her weight out from under her, so she stumbled and fell back on the couch.

She giggled, the breath flying out of her, and he lowered his other knee, shifting forward. He moved forward, and slid his hands up her ribs, pushing her shirt up, until it bunched against her breasts. He kissed her exposed skin, her ribcage, her stomach, just below her navel, and she tilted her head back, taking a deep breath.

"Jen," he said, his lips moving against her hip, the deep vibration of his voice—inexplicably—seeming to hit her right in the pit of her stomach.

He slid a hand between her legs, and moved his fingers against her.

"Yes or no?" he asked, his lips still hot against her hip.

She swallowed—she had stayed, and she had intended to stay, and fool around a little, and watch _Saturday Night Live_ with him—and she was sure she wanted what he was offering, but she wondered if it should be more—she briefly realized she thought it would happen like, on her birthday, or as part of some event, but it was just happening now—and she didn't want him to stop—

"Yes," she managed hoarsely, her tone a little anxious.

Her stomach tightened, and he was cautious with his kisses as he moved over her abdomen again. She felt his nose against the edge of her panties, and then he'd bitten them between his teeth and pulled them down, sliding them over her knees. She shivered; she felt his jaw against her thigh, his lips in a warning kiss, felt him breathe out slowly—and then his lips and tongue where before only his fingers had been—and she gasped and jumped, her abdomen clenching tightly.

"Jethro," she mumbled, covering her mouth. She took a deep breath, and then she moved her hands down and rested them on her thighs. She lifted her head, fluttering her lashes, and parted her eyes, watching him for a moment, adjusting to the—overwhelming intensity of his mouth on her—was this what it felt like when she went down on him?—she gasped and her head fell back.

She slipped her fingers into his hair and clutched tightly, like he often did to her.

She closed her eyes, and then popped them open, staring at the ceiling. She shifted her hips towards him, arching her back a little, and he ran a hand over her thigh, pressing his fingertips in, sliding his arm around her leg and pressing her knee against his shoulder. His stroked his hand up and down her calf, still holding her leg against his shoulder, and she moaned, biting her lip to be quieter.

He pulled back a little, and she thought she'd cry if he stopped—he glanced at her, taking in the sight of her for a moment.

"Don't have to be quiet, Jen," he said with a shrug.

She smiled at him weakly. Her fingertips brushed his temple.

"I thought you were intimidated," she said huskily. Her cheeks flushed shyly—it felt weird, to talk to him when he'd just been—but then it felt normal at the same time. He looked at her intently, still stroking her leg.

"Don't want to pressure you," he grunted vaguely—he didn't. He was wary of getting caught up in his own desires and putting too much pressure on her, particularly now that he knew she was trying to work out her thoughts on the matter.

She pushed his head down gently.

"Don't stop," was all she said, and when he started up again, this time she moaned a little louder.

It was such a new experience—she was so unused to it, so sensitive to his tongue—her head spun so quickly, and she felt that hot and desperate, tight feeling all over quicker than when he just had his fingers inside of her. She surprised herself, tugging his hair a little more insistently.

He flicked his tongue against her.

"Fuck," she whispered, her eyes closed. It felt like all the muscles in her stomach shattered, and she cried out softly, her toes curling. "Oh god, oh god, Jethro," she begged, breathing hard.

He moved his tongue again, and it finished her.

_"Fuck,"_ she moaned again, her voice weak and sated. He moved his tongue against her still, and it was so good it almost hurt, and then he eased off, sensing he'd pushed her past the breaking point. He brushed his lips against her thigh subtly once or twice, and then sat back.

She pushed her hands through her hair and let her palms linger over her eyes. She sat up slowly, her hands shaking slightly. She bit her lip when she peeked at him through her hands, and he stood up, arching a brow at her. She laughed quietly, a little nervously.

"Jethro," she whimpered, a little embarrassed.

He sat down next to her.

"C'mere, Jen," he requested huskily.

She shook her head, and then pushed her hands through her hair again, leaning back. She leaned over to her ankles and pulled her panties up, collapsing back on the couch nervously—and she shifted, spreading her legs and reaching for his belt.

"No," she muttered. "You, come here," she responded, and pulled him on top of her, shivering a little—she was sweaty and chilly at the same time, and she felt the need to be close to him—but she was so daunted by the intimacy she'd just experienced that she couldn't—if he wanted to—

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. She moved her hands between them and undid his belt, snapping it loose deftly and fumbling in his jeans and boxers for his cock. She pushed his jeans down his thighs a little, and wrapped her hand around him, moving her hand over him teasingly at first and then jerking her wrist in practiced motion—she'd learned what he liked when she did this, too.

He groaned and his head fell against her collarbone. She ran her thumb over the tip of him lightly, kissing along his jawline and then biting gently on his ear. She gasped, still trying to come down from her high, and he pushed his hips into her hand insistently. His thighs hit hers hard, and he thrust against her panties—she sucked in her breath, closing her eyes—it made her want him, so badly, not just his fingers, him—inside of her—but before she could think about it, or maybe get the words out—

"Jen," he groaned tensely, an edge to his voice—warning her.

She eased up, looking around hazily—her t-shirt was black, and there was no—towel or—

She moved back a little, pushing her hair back, and he breathed in heavily, his muscles tense. She bit her lip, and then she took a deep breath and reached quickly for the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it over her head. She was immediately cold—and she blushed, because his eyes widened and he stared at her—she'd never—he'd never seen—

Biting her lip to keep a smug smile back, she distracted him with a hard kiss and folded the t-shirt over one hand. She reached between them, wrapping her hand around his cock again, and he broke the kiss, his eyes and hands going straight to her bare breasts. She tilted her head back, he brushed his thumb and then his lips over her nipple, and she executed the familiar trick that always finished him when she got him off like this.

He groaned, his forehead slamming against her shoulder and his lips parting. She pressed the t-shirt against him, murmuring gently in his ear, and when he relaxed his full weight on her, she let out a slow breath, burying her face in his shoulder.

He kept running his hands over her breasts—and it felt new somehow, even though he'd done it countless times before—but this time his lips were there, and there was no shirt between them—and she had almost told him to just fuck it—literally—and go all the way with her—and when he looked up at her and met her eyes, she realized—she wouldn't have regretted it.

But then-she'd have to go home immediately, because of curfew, and she didn't like that idea...she wanted to do it when she had time with him.

She bit her lip, and blushed. He kissed her lips, and pressed his forehead against hers. He moved after a moment, shifting off of her, and readjusted his jeans, zipping up. He took, from the table, the clean shirt she'd stolen from his room, and handed it to her, and she clutched it against her, her hair falling beautifully over her shoulder. He tossed her wrinkled T-shirt to the floor; he'd wash it later.

He rubbed his jaw and smirked at her, and she arched a brow at him. She pursed her lips, curiously, in wonder—what had possessed him to be so assertive, when since their talk he'd always taken direction from her—she let her jumbled thoughts run together—and then she tilted her head back, and sucked in her breath.

"You got cocky," she accused huskily, clearing her throat. "My father—he let you off the Taliban leash," she guessed.

He rolled his eyes at her a little, and she bit her lip, hunching her shoulders innocently—she probably shouldn't bring up her father in…bed or…on the couch…she lowered her head for a moment and then stood, still clutching the clean shirt to her chest, and sat down closer to him.

"You want a cup of coffee?" he asked huskily, turning to kiss the corner of her mouth.

She nodded, running her tongue over her lips. He started to move, but she stopped him.

"Jethro," she murmured. She hesitated. She didn't know what she had been about to say, but suddenly all her confidence and excitement was gone and she felt vulnerable, and she was glad they hadn't had sex, because now she was thinking again—even though she had liked all of this, and even if it was further than usual, she liked it and she didn't want to take it back.

He eyed her intently, and she licked her lips again. She closed her eyes and breathed out slowly.

"You don't pressure me," she managed to say shakily. "It means…a lot to me."

He touched her cheek with his thumb and then rubbed his jaw. When she opened her eyes, a muscle in his temple was throbbing, like it always did when he was struggling to put words together.

"You," he muttered gruffly. "Mean a lot to me," he added—and he tried to hard not to sound like an idiot, that he sounded almost flippant. He gave her a sort of exasperated, lopsided smirk. "I owe you more, before you sleep with me," he told her decisively.

He wanted to make her understand that his past exploits with women didn't mean he didn't give a shit about her or her feelings.

He started to get up again, but she grabbed him and held him back. She moved closer, and rested her head against his chest for a moment, smiling contently—she adjusted to the vulnerable feeling, her nakedness with him, and she laughed against his chest with relief—it was so empowering that he understood that she wanted—needed—that.

* * *

She slammed the front door of the brownstone, laughing loudly as she let Ike off of his leash and took Gibbs by the hand. They'd been walking the loveable dog—and in a rare bout of joyful wildness, Ike had taken off after a Chihuahua in near the edge of the Potomac and dragged an unprepared Gibbs straight into the lake.

"You can wash off," she said through peals of laughter, yanking him up the stairs.

The Colonel stepped out of the kitchen and scrutinized them.

"The hell he can," he groused. He rolled his eyes, and then shot Ike a smug look as he noticed the dog was covered in the same dirty water as Gibbs. "Good dog," he crooned—though now, it was understood his giving a hard time to Gibbs was much more out of good-natured camaraderie than actual wary suspicion.

"Dad, he's soaked."

"We can hang him up by the fire and let him roast dry," the Colonel deadpanned.

"Dad, no, seriously," Jenny rolled her eyes, still clutching Gibbs' hand. "C'mon, I'll just shove him in the shower and like, cover my eyes and come sit in the study while he rinses off."

"What the hell's he gonna do, put on a pair of your sweatpants?" demanded Jasper, glaring at her.

"He can borrow some of your stuff," Jenny said innocently, dragging Gibbs up the stairs with a shrill giggle.

Gibbs dragged his feet, scowling, and she tugged him harder when she reached the landing, using the bannister as leverage so he stumbled right into her.

"Take it easy, babe," she teased. She wrinkled her nose. She glanced down to see the Colonel still glaring up at them moodily and hawkishly, and she lowered her voice. "Men aren't very fun when _they're_ wet."

He gave her a withering look for teasing him in front of her father, and she was about to shout down and seriously ask her father if Gibbs could wash up and borrow some clothes before he went home—it was getting late on Sunday, and he needed to get back to base—when Ike suddenly started howling at the sound of the doorbell.

Jenny cocked her head with interest, pausing, and the Colonel went for the door. She glanced at Gibbs.

"He doesn't really mind," she murmured, biting back another laugh when she looked at how disheveled he was. "I have no sympathy for you, I can't believe you let Ike take you down."

"You don't get how good your ass looks in those tight things," he snarled back under his breath.

"Leggings," she corrected in a hiss, as her father opened the door downstairs and allowed a familiar man to step in. She leaned over and pecked Gibbs on the lips quickly. She bit her lip and glanced down, pushing her hair back. "Agent Franks!" she greeted pleasantly.

He was the NCIS agent who had been working with her father and Army CID since the embezzlement case had arisen last year. He was a perpetually annoyed old agent, and Jenny enjoyed catching him off guard with brightness—except this time, he spared her only a slightly glum nod.

"Mike," growled the Colonel, and Jenny noticed her father draw himself up somewhat commandingly. He gestured up—tensely, and almost threateningly. "My daughter's boyfriend, Corporal Leroy Jethro Gibbs," he introduced.

Gibbs saluted politely, and Agent Franks nodded once, tilting his head towards the door.

"You're gonna need to come with me, Colonel," Franks said in a low tone—but not low enough for Jenny to miss it.

Her smile faded and she backed off the bannister a little. Gibbs turned around and looked down sharply. Her hand slipped out of his, and he tried to catch it back, but she darted around him and walked down to steps, both hands on the rail.

"I'm sure this can wait until morning," Shepard said tightly, his back to his daughter.

"Mornin', there'll be press," growled Franks sharply. "I need you to step outside onto the front porch so I can take you into custody."

"_What_?" shouted Jenny sharply, narrowing her eyes. "Agent Franks—"

"Jennifer," her father cut her off sharply. He looked at her, and then he turned to the NCIS agent stiffly. "There's no need to arrest me in front of my daughter," he said curtly. "I will go voluntarily."

Franks stepped back and opened the door grimly.

"This isn't a matter of volunteering, Colonel Shepard," he said bluntly. "I've got no choice but to Mirandize you."

"Agent Franks, what the _fuck_?" Jenny demanded, taking a few more steps—her face turned pale, and she didn't care that she'd just sworn violently in front of her father. "He's been working with you—what—Daddy," she said desperately, as her father stepped towards the porch, placed himself right outside, and turned his back to Franks.

Franks pulled out handcuffs.

Jenny bolted down the stairs and was a mere second from jerking the cuffs directly out of the hands of a federal agent when Gibbs caught her back and held her firmly, refusing to let her assault Franks. Jenny kicked his shin and shot him a ruthless glare, and then turned to her father as her eyes stung—

"_Dad_," she yelped, desperate. "What—"

"Do not panic, Jennifer," he said, a picture of cool patience. "This will be cleared up quickly—I am guilty of nothing," he added sharply, glancing at Franks.

Franks clicked a cuff around the proud Colonel's hands.

"Jasper Shepard," he said, and Jenny flinched at the lack of title. "You're under arrest for espionage against the United States of America, arms dealing—selling state secrets…"

Jenny's mouth fell open and her knees almost buckled. She knew—she felt sick suddenly, and dizzy, and she made a choking noise, pleading silently with her father, her eyes boring into his.

He wasn't looking at her, though—he shot a look straight at Gibbs, his shoulders back, and tightened his mouth and jaw stoically.

"Do not leave her alone," he ordered.

Franks nudged him down the front steps.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…"

* * *

_ha, y'all thought they were gonna do it.  
oh no, cliffhanger!_

_~feedback appreciated!_

_-__alexandra_


	17. Skywalker Sister

_A/N: Oh, so you guys are pretty tight-lipped when you're inundated with fluff, but I slap you with a cliffhanger and you slam me with a bunch of frantic reviews? I see, I see, I'll just have to blindside you more often -but surely you've seen that set-up woven throughout the story? :D I'm cacklin' over your reactions, mostly because I forgot that I already know what happens, so I was like 'jeez, why are they freaking out...' - I've said before this is not an angsty story: I stick by that._

_just so you know - my beta thinks Jenny is a mega bitch in this chapter._

* * *

_Chapter Fifteen_

_Skywalker Sister_

* * *

He didn't hesitate; he did exactly what the Colonel asked.

The problem was—Jenny was hardly aware of it. After her fit of swearing—and attempt at attacking—Agent Franks, she'd collapsed into a stiff sitting position on the bottom step and ignored Ike as he nudged at her face and whined. Gibbs had called her name a few times, until her unresponsiveness started to worry him, and he clapped and shouted at her—and then she'd stood up, told him very quietly that she wanted to be alone—and she'd gone upstairs and slammed her bedroom door.

As disconcerting as her behavior immediately after the Colonel's arrest was, he grudgingly—though worriedly—accepted her request and, even though it wasn't the same as what he'd gone through when Shannon had died, he remembered how the shock and pain had resulted in the complete inability to talk to anyone, and he let her go.

He had immediately started making calls to secure emergency leave from sniper training school—something he did without considering the repercussions it would have; there were provisions for taking time off—he would be given the days, and then suspended while the boards reviewed the validity of his reasoning. In the moment, he didn't consider that 'my girlfriend's dad got arrested' probably wasn't a real emergency, he just did what the Colonel asked and took measures to stay with Jenny—and he wanted to.

He realized, quite naturally, that sniper school didn't really matter if Jen's health or happiness was at stake. He'd poured his life into the Marines because he had nothing else, and now—well, he still loved the Marines, but he had Jen.

So on that Sunday night, he sat stiffly in the kitchen, wondering if he should go and check on Jenny, uncomfortable about being in the house—trying to figure out what the hell had happened. Colonel Shepard had discussed the case with him briefly when they had drinks, and there'd been no inkling that he was under suspicion.

Gibbs interrupted his reverie to call Jackie and ask her to stop by his apartment and feed the cat—and he'd evaded her insistent questions as to why he wasn't going to be able to do it. Then—he'd finally broken down and gone to check on Jen, at which point she'd yanked open her door and started _yelling_ at him.

_"What_ are you doing here?" she demanded, a distraught look in her eyes. "I'm okay, Jethro, I just want to be alone and process it—go home, go home, you're going to be tired tomorrow—go home!"

"I'm not goin' home, Jen, I'm stayin' here—did you hear your dad?"

"I don't give a fuck what Daddy says, he knows you can't skip off sniper school!" she shouted, folding her arms. "You can't—I won't let you do this. He can't boss you around and…I can't watch both of your careers and all you've worked for dissolve—"

"I'm not stayin' 'cause he's making me. I'm not leavin' you alone while your dad's in trouble—"

"Don't be such a goddamn martyr, Jethro!" she railed at him, clearly trying to find someone to take her fear out on. "I can't stand it, you and him _both_, you're such martyrs—he just offered to let them take him—and you—stop it, go home now, go to school—go!"

"No, Jenny," he growled at her.

She shoved him.

"You stubborn idiot!" she shouted, her lips shaking. She'd whirled into her room and grabbed a robe, and then stormed into her bathroom and slammed the door so loudly the stained glass door downstairs rattled.

He'd left her alone, then, except to go stand outside her door and check on her when he heard her stop pacing in her room at midnight—and he'd strained his ears to try and discern if she was crying, but he couldn't tell.

He had spent the night on the couch in the Colonel's study, staring at the ceiling, and methodically stroking Ike's velvety ears, until the sun came up, and he heard commotion outside.

* * *

She had one of those nights where it felt like she didn't sleep at all, and yet she woke up—so she must have slept at least a little. Her hair was tangled, her lips were dry—she'd been biting them and licking them too much—and her eyes were red. She left her room almost in a daze, half-hoping her father was in the study downstairs—but he wasn't, and mechanically, she went to open the door and pick up the paper.

"Ike," she called hoarsely, whistling to let him out.

The sound seemed to unleash chaos—she opened the door, and right as she did, Noemi materialized from the kitchen and Gibbs from the cupboard under the stairs.

"No, _Senorita!" _called Noemi, wincing.

"Jen!" growled Gibbs sharply.

But she'd already opened the door, and she had even picked up the paper when she realized her vision was flashing—and then someone shoved a microphone in her face.

"Mrs. Shepard, how long has the Colonel been under suspicion-?"

"Mrs. Shepard—"

She blinked and then blurted the first thing that came to mind—

"_Mrs_...? He's my father, not my husband!" she growled to the closest microphone, shoving her hair back and holding the paper close.

"How long has your father been selling state secrets to Iraqi insurgents?"

"Did you know of the Colonel's traitorous proclivities?"

"Traitorous proclivities?" Jenny shouted. "You think slander is acceptable if you use fancy vocabulary?" she spat.

Gibbs appeared in the doorway behind her, taking her shoulder.

"She doesn't have a comment," he growled, raising his voice dangerously.

She was overwhelmed by the crowd of people on the streets and flinched, remembering how rough she looked—and she was in tiny shorts and a half-unbuttoned flannel—Gibbs', to be exact—and she didn't want her picture on the news—but if it was going to be—

Gibbs was pulling her away, but the things they were shouting about her father made her eyes sting and her mouth taste bad, so she turned violently and grabbed the door, looking at them all.

"My father isn't a traitor!" she shouted aggressively, effectively provoked by the stress and shock of being accosted while she tried to get the paper. "He's innocent! And if you try him as guilty in the public court, you've got no journalistic integrity—this industry hadn't had an _ounce_ of goddamn integrity since Ed Murrow died!"

Gibbs effectively rolled his eyes and yanked her back into the house, shouting another aggressive 'no comment' at the crowd. She heard them yelling still as she slammed the door—one asking if that was her official statement, one demanding to know if Gibbs was private security assigned to protect her. Gibbs locked the door loudly and Jenny slumped against it, clutching the newspaper to her chest. She stared at Gibbs' chest, her eyes wide, her lips pressed together tightly—Noemi was wringing a towel in her hands, looking worried. She tried to think of something to say, and then she realized she couldn't speak, and she closed her burning eyes, taking a deep breath instead.

"Ike," she managed after a moment, her voice hoarse—still dry from the crying she'd done last night.

"He's out back," Gibbs said gently. "Noemi let him out," he tried to soothe.

She was silent again, listening to the ruckus outside. She bit her lip and then reached up, swiping at her eyes with her hands, flinching when the newspaper gave her a thin, stinging paper cut right above her brow. She looked up and finally met Gibbs' eyes, her lashes thick with tears.

"I am not going to school today," she said—defiantly, as if he would make her.

He shrugged, and nodded, not even bothering to fight her or consider Noemi's opinion—he wasn't her father, and he wasn't in charge of her; he didn't want to alter their relationship by acting like an authority figure. He didn't want to control her or order her around.

"'M not here to be the Colonel, Jen," he said gruffly. "'M just here."

She compressed her lips tightly, and lowered her head. Her hair fell in her face. He was just here—to be with her, and he had her father's blessing—and with that in mind, she thought maybe she could sit down, and try to coordinate her thoughts—because last night she'd been too much of a mess to do anything but freak out.

She walked forward, and put her arms around him.

* * *

Noemi seemed to take it upon herself to make the best, most comforting coffee of her life, and Jenny was grateful for it. She curled her palms around the mug, nursing it as if it were her heart and soul, and staring down into the black brew.

"Noemi, I'm not going to school," she said again, sounding small and girlish—Noemi had always been sort of a mother figure to her, on days when her father wasn't home to see her off.

"_Si_, _Senorita_, I understand," Noemi said, placing her hand on Jenny's hair and then kissing her temple gently. "I think your papa okay with you out of the public eye," she added.

Jenny ignored the comment, but allowed Noemi to touch her. Gibbs pulled up a chair next to Jenny, his palm curled around his own coffee mug. He shot Noemi a mildly insistent look, and she nodded, agreeing to leave them alone—she felt it might be best if she went about her business as usual, and didn't hover or make Jennifer feel any more panicked. Gibbs sat in silence, watching her stare at her coffee. She took a slow breath, lifted her mug to her lips, and took a long, thoughtful drink before she replaced it on the table and cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry I shoved you," she said quietly, "and yelled—and called you an idiot."

"I am an idiot," he deadpanned.

The shadow of a smile crept across her lips before it faded quickly. She lifted her head, glancing over at him through her eyelashes.

"You're not, Jethro," she retorted, shaking her head slightly.

He smiled at her, and took a drink of his coffee. She glared back down at her cup, running her finger around the edge.

"It didn't occur to me that there would be—so much press," she muttered, closing her eyes for a moment. "I should have kept my mouth shut—will what I said hurt him, do you think?" she asked earnestly, looking at him through her lashes again.

He slowly shook his head.

"Nah, Jen," he said, shrugging. "He didn't do anything."

She managed a smile of thanks for his defense of her father. She chewed on her lip, and sighed harshly.

"They're going to put me on the news—and I look like a train wreck—"

"You do not—"

"My eyes are all red, and my hair's tangled, and—and—"

"Jen, you ever seen a damn train wreck?" Gibbs interrupted rudely.

She glared at him.

"No, I—"

"You don't look like one. You've never looked like a train wreck a day in your life."

She blinked at him defiantly, apparently deciding if she was flattered by his compliments or annoyed he wasn't letting her put herself down. She tightened her lips and narrowed her eyes, and he cocked a brow at her.

"You wanna yell at me again?" he asked. "Sock me in the jaw?"

Her annoyed expression relaxed a little, and she flushed.

"Maybe," she joked weakly. She pressed her palms against the kitchen table and shook her head. "He wasn't even under suspicion, Jethro. He was cooperating with NCIS. Agent Franks has had dinner here so many times," she paused, and looked at him demandingly. "What the hell—happened?"

He set his jaw. He didn't know, but he wished there was something he could tell her. He tilted his head.

"He told me they were close to done," Gibbs muttered.

"This case—it started in May," she explained. "NCIS found inconsistencies in taxes at the Army-Navy club, and it was connected to some Navy guys and to—well, to Dad, but then to his inferiors—which pissed him off."

"I bet."

"Yeah—but he was determined to root them out; he's been running damage control on the security breaches for weeks—and Franks knows, he knows my father would never—he _loves_ this country, he—"

"Take it easy, Jen," Gibbs warned, reaching for her hand.

She yanked it away.

"I can't—I can't!" she retorted aggressively. "My father got arrested for treason—high treason! It's like living in the middle ages!" she burst out dramatically. "Do you know how many hazard duty assignments he took, Jethro?" she demanded. "So he could make sure I had toys and pretty clothes and a roof over my head, and food? He worked his fingers to the bone for this Army, for this country—he took bullets, he walked through fire!"

Gibbs nodded, gritting his teeth together while she talked. Her cheeks flamed, and she sat back, leaning heavily against the back of the chair. Her mouth was white, and she clenched her jaw, scared and angry at the same time.

"He would have—told me if he knew that was going to happen," she said softly, though uncertainty crept into her voice. "It must have shocked him, too, the arrest—he would have _told_ me."

She looked at Gibbs earnestly, this time searching for confirmation. He nodded, leaning forward. He moved his chair to the side so he could lean onto his knees, facing her.

"He sounded confident they were closin' it, Jen," He assured her. "I don't think he saw this comin'."

"The Admiral," Jenny said suddenly, without warning. "He needs a lawyer, Jethro—I have to call AJ—I mean, Admiral Chegwidden," she said, starting to stand. Gibbs caught her hand tightly and squeezed her fingers.

"You think the Colonel hasn't lawyered up already?" he asked skeptically, giving her a look.

She hesitated, and then slowly sat back down—Gibbs was right; there's no way her father hadn't already contacted either his private lawyer, or the Admiral.

"Who's Chegwidden?" Gibbs asked.

"He's—he's with JAG, but he and Daddy are good friends," she said softly. She rubbed her forehead, chewing on her lip. "I don't understand," she muttered. She ran her fingers over her lips, fading into her own world for a moment. Then she looked over at him sharply. "You took emergency leave?"

He nodded curtly.

She swore under her breath, and put her head in her hands.

"He should have never put that in your head—Jethro, I don't want you ruining your chances in sniper school because of me," she said shakily, her voice breaking. "Isn't it bad enough one man's career is ruined?"

"S'not gonna ruin my career, Jen," he said gruffly. "I'll worry about gettin' the emergency cleared when your dad's back—they can't keep 'im. You said it yourself; he didn't do it."

She slammed her hand down.

"He never should have been arrested, then!"

"What, you think 'cause he got arrested, they must have some proof?"

"_I don't think my father is a traitor!"_ she bellowed at him, leaping out of her chair. She spilled her coffee, and he stood up slowly, reacting to the mess. She backed away a few steps, her face turning pale, and looked immediately apologetic. "I—I'm sorry, I know you weren't suggesting—"

"Don't apologize," he said curtly, brushing her off as he went to clean up the spilled coffee.

He fell silent, and felt her watching him as he stiffly fixed everything. He didn't know how to do this—he had never been good at handling the bad, if he had been, he wouldn't have ruined his relationship with his father or so miserably failed to get over Shannon's death.

"I don't know how to deal with this, Jethro!" she cried hoarsely.

He stopped doing what he was doing and turned around, throwing the dishtowel towards the sink.

"I don't either!" he retorted, frustrated, pointing at himself. "Look, Jen—here's what I know: there's no way the Colonel betrayed his country. He spent his life defending it. He's no Benedict Arnold. Means they must have some bogus reason to think he's behind it all," Gibbs paused, and shrugged. "Someone's _pinned_ him with it."

She stared at him.

"Pinned him—_framed him_?" she squeaked, eyes widening. She blinked rapidly and slumped against the counter, leaning on her hands behind her. "He's—he's well-liked, there's no one who…it would be impossible to stick him with something like this," she broke off suddenly, her lips closing.

Gibbs gestured vaguely at nothing, and gave her a hard look.

"Not if it's an inside job—one of his inferiors manages to make somethin' look suspicious, or a CID guy or an NCIS agent in on it twists things—they arrested him out of nowhere, Jen, that means someone's playin' a last-ditch game to distract the authorities and get away," he growled.

She stared at him again, absorbing his theory—his very astute theory. Her lips parted, and she looked at him with wonder for a moment.

"You—you're good," she said weakly, licking her lips. "Jethro—you think like a cop, you're," she fumbled, her brow furrowing. "Were you an MP?"

"For a little while," he admitted gruffly, reaching up to rub his jaw. He shook his head—that was irrelevant; it didn't matter that he had a knack for figuring things like this out; he just wanted to make her calm down and feel a little better.

He stepped forward and rested his hand on her shoulder, getting in her personal space. She reached up and placed her hands on his chest, her eyes meeting his warily, and then sharply.

"Rene Benoit," she said aggressively.

He looked taken aback.

"What?"

"He's—Rene Benoit has to be setting him up," she said loudly, stumbling over the words.

"Your father's business partner?"

"He's a _defense_ contractor—you met him; you know he's slimy. I swear, if he ever got me alone, he'd assault me," she spat distastefully, thinking of how Benoit had eyed her since she turned thirteen. "He's a private mogul, Jethro, he deals in arms—he gets rich working for the U.S. government—he'd only get richer double-dealing!"

Gibbs stared at her cautiously. He squeezed her shoulders.

"You're jumping to conclusions," he told her gruffly. "You want someone to blame."

She reached up and held his wrists.

"You're damn right I want someone to blame! It has to be Benoit, Jethro, it _has_ to be! He knows all kinds of intimate information—"

"You think the Colonel could work with a man for ten years and not know he's a damn traitor?" Gibbs asked roughly, glaring at her. He hadn't meant to set her off into conspiracy theories.

She faltered a little, but then her mouth and jaw hardened.

"It's him, Jethro," she said stubbornly. "It _has_ to be Rene Benoit."

"Jen," he said softly, shaking his head.

He didn't want her to think he didn't take her seriously, but he was skeptical at the accusation—he thought she was grasping at straws. He understood the need to justify what had happened, but he didn't want her to get caught up in some bullshit theory—and he was wary of telling her definitively everything would be fine, because even though he knew the Colonel must have been framed—what if NCIS never figured that out? Gibbs decided if worst came to worst, he'd make it his mission in life to outsmart NCIS and clear Jasper Shepard's name.

She reached out suddenly and touched his neck, her fingernails clutching at his skin.

"You took emergency leave," she choked out, her eyes swimming. "I'm so—I'm so mad at you, Jethro. I want you to be a sniper. You can do—so much good. I could have taken care of myself. He didn't need to make you stay here."

He glared at her.

"'M not here for the Colonel, Jen," he repeated again, holding her gaze. "'M here for _you_."

Tears slipped out of her eyes and she leaned forward and pushed her head against his chest, seeking comfort.

"What do I do?" she asked, struggling to figure out how to move forward—did she go about business as usual, did she sulk, did she—go to NCIS to fight? "You think—they'll let me see him?"

He put his arms around her, relieved she seem to be calming down a little—though he was not relieved by the crying. He lowered his lips to her head and kissed her, setting his jaw.

He didn't know how to answer, and he didn't know what to do either.

* * *

It took a long time for her to decide how she was going to move forward; it was noon when she disappeared upstairs for another shower and reappeared stoic, and determined to get ahead on schoolwork. She called Nina to gather her missed assignments for the day, but she ignored all other text messages. She didn't open the front door again, and by late evening the press had died away and she breathed a sigh of relief—Noemi got the mail, and was wringing her hands about leaving when Gibbs came back from walking Ike.

"Noemi, please," Jenny said, calmly and gently. "You can't worry about me—Gibbs won't leave, even if I hold a gun to his head. I'm fine—I can't make you sleep on a couch, and there's no guest room."

"Go, Noemi," Gibbs agreed gently. He arched an eyebrow at her. "Colonel told me to stay; we're not breakin' rules."

"I not so strict as _Senor_ about the rules," Noemi said earnestly, her eyes twinkling a little. "He worried father; I trust Miss Jenny." She hesitated. "I want to take care of you," she said earnestly.

Jenny gave her a tight, frustrated look and turned to stalk into the study. Gibbs gave Noemi a calm look and told her again she could go—he didn't really want the housekeeper babysitting them, anyway. She was finally convinced, and she gave him instructions on how to finish the dinner she had in the oven. He saw her out, let Ike off his leash, and found Jenny curled on the leather couch in front of the fireplace in the study, eyes glued to the screen above the mantle.

She turned up her nose when she sensed him in the doorway and nodded at the screen.

"I'm being quoted," she said tartly. "The Ed Murrow comment—I seem to have impressed the bastards calling my father a traitor," she added venomously.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows, and cocked his head, listening. She popped the volume up a few notches.

"…_Shepard's twenty-one year-old-daughter,"_ Jenny's mouth fell open in outrage at that. _"…who vehemently defended her father before she was dragged back inside by a Marine presumably instructed by her father to withhold her from public view…considering the mouth on her even when taken by surprise, I'd say Shepard's got some foresight…"_

"'Withold' me?" Jenny snarled, narrowing her eyes. "_The mouth on me_?" She scoffed. "As if Bill O'Reilley knows a damn thing about my mouth—they didn't even get my age right," she growled.

Gibbs smirked, walked past her, and reached up to turn off the TV as he made his way to the shelves. He took down a bottle of scotch, grabbed two crystal glasses from her father's whiskey cabinet, and placed them firmly on the old oak desk. He uncapped the bottle and held it up to the firelight approvingly.

"Figure if you're twenty-one, you can have a drink," he deadpanned.

He forgot to feel sheepish or wary or bad for breaking into Jasper's alcohol stores and plying his underage girl with alcohol—he and Jen could both use a drink badly, and he didn't plan on letting her drink herself into a stupor. He handed her the glass, and sat down next to her. She looked into it dubiously, and then looked at him, chewing on her lip. He held his glass out, and clinked it against hers.

"To?" she asked.

"The Hound," he said gruffly—and that brought a genuine smile to her lips.

"I always forget they call him that," she said fondly, lifting the tumbler so she could inhale the whiskey—and then she shot it back quickly, swallowed hard, and made a face.

"They don't call 'im that for nothin', Jen," Gibbs said, nursing his scotch appreciatively. "He's comin' home, you know that."

She shrugged. Her lips quirked up a little, and then fell, and she looked at the blank television.

"Sunday is Easter," she said dully, and when she said it, Gibbs remembered that it was. His jaw tightened, and she took a deep breath. "What if he's not back by Easter? We always go get breakfast, early, and he hides a giant basket in the house somewhere, even though I'm too old…and then my birthday—"

"Jesus, Jen, he'll be back before April fourth," Gibbs interrupted heavily.

She blinked at him sullenly.

"What if he's not?"

"I'll overthrow the government," Gibbs deadpanned.

She bit her lip, and smiled warily. She got up, and walked to the Colonel's desk, running her hand over the pile of mail Noemi had fetched. She picked up a moderately thick envelope and raised her eyebrows. Gibbs tilted his head, and arched his, silently inquiring.

"It's from Tulane," she said. "I got in."

Gibbs smiled at her.

"'Course you did."

Her smile faded, and she held up another, slim envelope.

"Vanderbilt," she said. Her lips shook. "No dice."

He tilted his head, unsure how badly that affected her; and she sat down in the Colonel's chair and leaned forward, putting her face in her hands. She took a few deep breaths and then looked up, her eyes red and her jaw stiff.

"I had decided I wanted—to go to Vandy," she admitted in a small voice.

His gut flipped over. She looked so defeated, sitting in her father's chair, dealing with his arrest—and then that, on top of it? He'd forgotten it was getting close to when she'd find out her college options and he—he frankly hadn't expected anyone to tell her no.

He got up and stalked forward, standing in front of the desk.

"You're good enough for 'em, Jen," he said seriously. He shrugged. "Doesn't matter if they turned you down. Still are."

She nodded—she knew Vanderbilt was impossibly difficult to get into, and she didn't want to take it as an indictment of her intelligence or ability, but it still stung. It was worse that she'd so seriously started looking at it as her number one choice, these past few weeks, and now she had to re-evaluate her top option. She pushed the mail away, and ran her tongue around the rim of her scotch glass, looking up at Gibbs through her lashes.

"If I end up at Mason, at least I'll be close," she said dryly.

He shrugged.

"You go where you want, Jen," he said curtly. "Won't bother me."

She looked at him intently, and he gave her a grim look.

"They can kick me wherever they want, whenever they want," he said bluntly. "You can't decide where to go based on bein' close to me."

"I know," she said softly. "I was testing you."

He smirked a little.

"I pass?"

"I haven't decided yet," she said softly. She arched a brow. "Is distance a deal breaker?"

He snorted.

"I'm a Marine."

It was all he said, but it was all he needed to say. Some of the apprehension and stress seemed to leave her, and she relaxed slightly. He felt better, too, knowing she wasn't thinking of ending things when she went off to college. He didn't mind waiting months for leave to see her, if it meant he got to keep her, but he'd been unsure if she felt the same way. He figured he should tell her how he actually felt about her, but he didn't want to scare her off. If some girl had told him something like that when he was seventeen, he'd more than likely have bolted before she could finish, and he didn't want to do that to Jenny.

Jenny bit onto the rim of her glass and gave him a look.

"You don't care that I won't sleep with you, you don't care if I move off to kingdom come," she listed, shaking her head. She cocked an eyebrow. "I must be quite bewitching."

"Regular Lady Macbeth," he deadpanned dryly.

She pointed at him and narrowed her eyes.

"Careful what you wish for; I may persuade you to knife someone for me."

He did a mock bow and swept his arm out, the fire in the hearth glinting off of his crystal glass.

"My lady," he drawled sarcastically.

She giggled, and her lashes fluttered, covering her sparkling eyes. They seemed permanently wet since yesterday morning, and he hated it—he hated when she cried.

"You have any luck callin'?" he asked her.

She shook her head slowly, her lips still resting on her glass.

"No," she said hoarsely. "Voicemail—and Agent Franks' probie wouldn't connect me," she added. She swallowed hard, and shook her head. "I should be allowed to speak with him," she asserted.

Gibbs nodded—he agreed.

"Nina coming by?" he asked.

She shook her head again.

"I—I told her to hold off," she ventured, and then took a deep breath. "I'm-going to school tomorrow."

Gibbs lifted his brows.

"You sure?"

She nodded, lifting her chin with determination.

"I will not hide and let them speculate that it means he's guilty," she said firmly. "I am his daughter and he is innocent and showing my face supports that more than cowering in his house."

Gibbs smirked at her, and finished off his scotch, admiring her attitude. He took a step back and sat on the edge of the leather sofa, eyes on her as she lounged in the big leather chair that was much too big for her. She looked around, and then her eyes fell on him again.

"He's all I've got, Jethro," she said, her voice hoarse again. "He's—he's all I've got," she repeated.

Gibbs shrugged.

"You got me," he offered.

She bit her lip, lowering her glass. Her eyes met his.

"What if he's guilty?"

"He's not."

"How can I doubt him?" she demanded roughly.

"You don't," Gibbs said shortly. "You're scared."

"I'm not scared, you _dick_," she retorted defensively.

"You're scared," he retorted, shrugging off the insult. He tilted his head. "He can hold his own, Jen."

She shoved her crystal tumblr across the desk.

"Will you stop being so goddamn logical?" she growled half-heartedly, but there was a soft flicker of thanks in her eyes—she appreciated his being here, and his stupid words of wisdom, and how—how much of a rock he was being.

Ike trotted into the study and moseyed over to Gibbs, wagging his tail affectionately. Gibbs stood up, scratching the dog's ears, and paced around. He poured himself some more scotch—wishing seriously for some bourbon—and then he sat down on the couch, looking at the fire. He felt her watching him, and he turned to her, steeling himself.

"Jen," he said.

Her eyebrows went up in question.

"Babe," she murmured, indicating he could go on.

"You want—you want me to explain…about Shannon?" he managed to get out.

She blinked, obviously taken aback. She reached for her glass and started turning it in her palm. She pushed her hair back, running her fingers through the tangles, and then smirked in a hollow way and lifted her shoulder.

"_God_, you must feel bad for me," she said dryly—he never would have brought that up voluntarily. She chewed on her lip and then looked at him through her lashes. "Is it petty if I say yes?" she asked.

He shrugged. She felt vindictive, and defeated all at once—she was angry at herself for being so jealous of Shannon Fielding, but she was so focused by the web of connections there, she just couldn't not know.

She bit down on the mug again, and then licked her lips.

"You lost your virginity to her," Jenny said flatly, remembering how he'd thrown it at her so nastily in the mall.

Gibbs nodded. He took a drink. She cocked her head.

"But you told me it was never like that with you two," she added bitterly.

Here was something she could channel her myriad of emotions into.

"It wasn't," he grunted.

She considered throwing the crystal glass right at his idiot skull.

"What the hell—" she started.

"It was her idea," Gibbs growled, turning and looking at her. He rested his hand, and his glass, on the armrest of the couch. "Early in high school, before we—I," he corrected, scoffing, "started _real_ datin'. I wasn't datin' until I was drivin'. Shannon," he trailed off, and shook his head dejectedly.

Jenny fell silent. She bit her tongue, and decided to hear him out. She'd forgotten how much this had pissed her off—until now. Gibbs looked down at the scotch in his glass and sloshed it around a little, his jaw tight.

"She was scared to do it," he said roughly. "She said me 'n' her were friends, so we should—break each other in, figure out how to do it right, before we got serious with someone else."

"Break each other in?" quoted Jenny, distracted from her anger. She smiled a little quizzically.

"Her words," Gibbs grunted.

"She just…asked you to practice sex with her one day?" Jenny asked, in disbelief—she couldn't imagine operating like that. She thought she couldn't—except then it started to make sense, a little bit. The practicing part, so it would be good when you really meant it—except Jenny didn't want that. She wanted it to be good because she really _wanted_ the other person, not because she'd _practiced_.

"Pretty much," Gibbs admitted gruffly. "It didn't mean anything, Jen, we were just foolin' around…she knew I wouldn't hurt her, knew I'd stop the minute she said stop," he muttered. He snorted derisively. "Didn't matter. Guys always hurt her, anyway."

"That's why you were always fighting in high school," Jenny realized, as it clicked. "You were taking up for her?"

"She was like a sister to me," he muttered.

"Yeah, a Skywalker sister," Jenny mumbled incoherently. She smirked to herself, and Gibbs shot her a withering glare. She quickly composed herself, and cleared her throat.

"I thought it was a good idea at the time," he growled.

"You regret it?" Jenny asked.

That question seemed to stump him. He stared at her, and she was apprehensive. He had a lot of pain when it came to Shannon Fielding, and it was hard enough to watch him struggle with it when he claimed she was just a friend. Jenny wasn't stupid enough to think it wouldn't change everything if she found out Shannon had been more.

Gibbs still stared at her, and then he set his jaw.

"It's not like that," he muttered, trying to put it into words. "Don't think it was healthy for her," he said slowly—Shannon had made so many snap decisions, and his agreeing to sleep with her probably hadn't been wise, considering her insecurities. "I don't think about that, when I think about her," he explained gruffly. "Just somethin' we did." He paused. "I don't regret a girl until I'm with another girl," he said awkwardly.

"That's poetic," Jenny said dryly, cocking an eyebrow.

She knew what he was trying to say, though. Kind of like she hadn't at all regretted or been bothered by he fact that she'd given Tony DiNozzo a hand job, until she did the same thing with Jethro, and then she'd vaguely wished it had only been him—but it was a passing feeling, and she hadn't gotten mired down in it.

She chewed on her lip.

"Why did you do it?" she asked softly. "Did you—I mean…you had to be attracted to her or…you'd have said no."

He snorted, and gave her a skeptical look.

"Nah," he retorted bluntly. "Jen, I'm a guy, I was fifteen, there's a girl offering to sleep with me, I jumped at the chance," he told her frankly. He shrugged. "Shannon was pretty. Didn't think anything of it, until we were older and, y'know, you realize it's not…you don't just do it," he muttered.

Jenny cocked her eyebrow at him, but decided not to point out that he sounded like an after-school special.

"Fifteen?" she asked in a small voice.

He smirked at her wryly.

"You whore," she hissed at him mockingly.

He glared at her mildly, and she closed her lips on the crystal glass.

"You've no idea what you've put in my head," she informed him loftily. "I'm expecting Casanova—you better not hurt me, when we do it, Captain Experience."

"We doin' it anytime soon?" he asked seriously.

She picked up a pen and threw it at him.

"Excuse me? My father just got arrested you _cad_," she clicked her tongue in shame, "and you, trying to take advantage of a lady."

Her smile faded a little, and she remembered why he'd been distracting her in the first place.

"You're good," she murmured.

She smiled half-heartedly, and picked up her glass. She tipped it back as if searching for droplets—clearly she was not letting herself drink more, even though Gibbs wouldn't have said anything if she had one more glass. She placed it back on the desk, and ran her finger around the rim. She cocked her head.

"You didn't love her at all, Jethro?" she asked. "She meant so much to you."

He shrugged. Jenny leaned forward on the desk.

"You ever consider that she loved you?" she asked.

He looked over at her, and she saw the guilt in his eyes. He must have figured it out. He must think he drove that girl crazy, drove her to the grave, because he never felt the way she did, and he never noticed she wanted more than just a platonic friendship. Jenny smiled sadly, and bit her lower lip.

He lifted his shoulders.

"She was just my friend," he said hoarsely. "I couldn't—"

"No one can," Jenny said. "No one can make anyone love them, or make them want them, or make them stay," she said, and he figured she was thinking of her mother. "It wasn't your fault, Jethro—what could you have done, lied to her? To save her?"

"She was a mess, Jen," he said tiredly. "It wasn't just me." He didn't really elaborate, but Jenny felt like she'd figured Shannon out—one of those free-spirited girls, who was nostalgic for some sort of cinematic life that had never existed for anyone. "But I wanted to save her."

Jenny nodded.

"She's why I joined the Marines," he said abruptly. "She had rules," he muttered, lifting his glass to his lips. "Said everyone needed a code to live by. Marines're my code."

"If you hadn't, we'd never have met," Jenny said.

He looked at her, with a raw look in his eyes.

"You're what she told me to look for, Jen," he said.

It made him feel worse, though. Jenny was maybe what Shannon could have been, if she hadn't been weighed down by her own problems. But Jenny was also vastly different from Shannon, and she was the girl Shannon had recommended—and it bothered Gibbs that Shannon had told him for years and years he needed to look for a woman who was so different than herself, when he'd figured out she wanted him that way. It bothered him that she'd known she wasn't healthy, and it bothered him more that he knew Shannon would never have been the woman he wanted to settle down with—she was too wild.

Jenny snorted, and got up. She abandoned her crystal tumbler, and she perched on the edge of the couch next to him.

"I am a mess right now," she admitted darkly, and leaned down to kiss him.

She ran her hands comfortingly over his neck; feeling like a barrier between them had broken.

"You have to move on, Jethro," she murmured softly. "You have to let her rest in peace."

His muscles were stiff under her arms, and she was struck by how good it was of him to ease her confusion and suffering over her father by—essentially taking the brunt of it on himself, through another path. She kissed his lips, lingering for a moment—and then she got up to finish Noemi's half-cooked dinner, and she took some deep breaths and let him recover.

* * *

She braced herself for school as if it were going to be hell—but she was proved wrong; the few people who did bring up the drama to her gave her words of support.

"I saw it on the news yesterday, Jenny, it was fucking ridiculous—"

"Like, your dad dresses as Uncle Sam every Halloween,_ no one_ believes he sold weapons to Al-Qaeda—"

"You kicked ass, roasting those reporters—my dad's a lawyer, he'd handle your Dad's case for free—"

If the words of encouragement weren't wonderful enough, Holly and Nina took it upon themselves to balance the day with the perfect amount of normalcy and stalwart support—and Mark decided to act goofily as her personal bodyguard.

She actually—smiled and laughed more than she thought, and she poured herself into school when her friends weren't around. It wasn't horrible—but it was still a reminder, and even if the interactions were positive, she felt drained when she got home—because they still weren't letting her communicate with her father, and when she and Gibbs went down to the Navy Yard to speak with an agent, Mike Franks' probie—a kid named Richard Parsons—wouldn't let them talk to him or see the Colonel.

"He was such a slimy little thing," Jenny railed, curled up in her window seat, while Gibbs sat on the bed. "He looked about your age, acting like he fuckin' runs NCIS—I should have punched him."

"_No_," Gibbs said again, rubbing his arm. She'd tried to—and he'd stepped in front of her to prevent her from assaulting a federal agent and getting arrested, and in doing so had born the brunt of her fist. He figured out then that all that Krav Maga was good for her—she could punch pretty formidably.

Jenny swiped at her eyes and ran her hands through her hair. She closed her eyes tightly—she felt pressured, and stressed, and scared. She swallowed hard.

"You know—Jethro, Tony and Jeanne broke up," she said, in a quavering voice. "I overheard—Holly was chattering, she said Jeanne's father is sending her to school in France, and he's moving to Switzerland for business," she choked out. "He's leaving the country, Jethro," she said desperately.

"Jen," he said sharply. "You've got to drop the Benoit thing."

"He's _framing_ my father!" she burst out. "It has to be him—why else would he _flee_—Jesus Christ, Jethro, he's taking his daughter out of her beloved private school," she paused, biting her lip until she drew blood. "I want to tell Franks—they should look at Benoit, it _has_ to be him," she cried, shaking her head.

She swiped at her eyes and covered her mouth, setting her jaw. She didn't want to start crying again, but she didn't understand why he didn't believe her—he didn't even really know Benoit, and she'd known the creep since she was a child. Maybe he was trying to protect or, or keep her sanity intact, but it wasn't working.

"It's not gonna help Jasper if you show up shoutin' conspiracy theories!"

She jumped up from the window seat, her fists clenched.

"It's not—you were the one who suggested he was being framed!"

"I didn't think you'd go and try to throw mud on a guy who throws charity balls every year!" groused Gibbs.

"That's probably where he launders the money!"

"Jesus _Christ_, Jen," Gibbs groaned.

That pissed her off.

She threw up her hands and shot him a poisonous look.

"Will you leave?" she demanded. "You're—you're smothering me," she growled. "I want you to leave."

"No, you don't," he barked.

He got up, and she started to walk forwards. He grabbed her arm gently, and she shook him loose.

"Don't try to distract me with one of your little high school sob stories," she snarled viciously.

He looked like he'd been slapped, and the colour drained from her face. She tried to backtrack, but he stepped away and held up his hands.

"You don't put up with my shit, Jen, means I don't have to put up with yours," he snapped ruthlessly, storming past her.

"Where are you going?" she demanded hoarsely, darting after him and leaning over the bannister.

He didn't answer right away, but when Ike ran up to him, thinking he was getting a walk, Gibbs pushed the dog away brusquely. He looked up at Jenny sharply and tightened his jaw.

"I'm givin' you some time to get over yourself," he barked at her—and she flinched; she remembered saying the same thing to him when he was mean to her in Stillwater.

He went outside, slamming the door behind him. Jenny stood with her mouth open, staring—he wouldn't just _leave_, not if the Colonel had instructed him to stay—

She stomped her foot and started to cry, angry with herself. She turned and stormed into her bathroom, turning the water on full force and scalding hot, planning to sweat everything out in the hottest shower known to man.

* * *

The hot shower did nothing for her, really, and she tossed and turned in bed for what seemed like hours. She hadn't heard Gibbs come back, but he was silent as the grave when he moved—so that didn't mean anything, necessarily. She wanted her father home. She wanted him home so badly—so she could stop feeling disoriented and scared, and stop lashing out at Gibbs. He was just so calm, and stoic about the whole thing, and she felt like she was shattering—so that irritated her, because she valued her ability to be cool and collected, and he was seeing her really lose it.

She hated that he kept rolling his eyes at her Benoit theory. She hated that she was being mean to him, and that even the positive interactions she had at school were tainted with her stress, and that they kept showing her on the evening news, and speculating about when her father would turn on his alleged terrorist allies.

She buried her head in her pillow, catching her breath and holding it. If they sent him to Gitmo—he had interrogated prisoners there, provided the intelligence that caught them—they'd murder him with smiles, if they put him in there—

She choked on her thoughts and squeezed her eyes shut—and then finally, she took a Benadryl and used an old trick her grandmother had taught her to go to sleep—pretend she'd just been given anesthesia, and then relax slowly, slowly, _slowly_…until the world faded.

It worked, but not for long—she woke up screaming, from the old nightmare she had about losing her father in combat—except this was darker, and it was the one that had Gibbs in it too. She got out of bed, running away as if it were a coffin, and she nearly tripped on Ike. Her brow furrowed—he had been downstairs when she locked herself in the room.

Her door handle was rattling insistently, and as she reached for it to unlock it, it broke and the door popped open. She clutched at it, pulling it open, her face pale—and there stood Gibbs, holding the doorknob and looking annoyed.

She let out a strangled breath.

"Why the hell was your bedroom door locked?" he growled at her forcefully.

Her shoulders slumped—she was just so relieved he was there—and she swallowed.

"To keep out Macbeth, Jethro," she teased shakily. "Macbeth dost murder sleep."

She was scared of unanticipated monsters, and she launched herself at him throwing her arms around his neck. He caught her with a grunt and dropped the doorknob, pulling her close to him. He rested his cheek on her head.

"S'okay, Jen," he murmured.

"What are you still doing here?" she asked hoarsely, her voice breaking. "I thought you'd—"

"C'mon, Jen," he muttered, pushing her gently back into her bedroom. "'M not leavin' anyone behind. It's in the job description."

She closed her eyes and sat down on the bed heavily, dropping her head into her hands. He sat down next to her and slipped his arms around her, hugging her to his side.

"Heard you scream," he said gruffly. "Sounds like you're over yourself."

"I am," she cried, starting to cry. "I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't apologize."

"_Yes_, I'm apologizing—I shouldn't have said that to you. I know how much it hurts you that Shannon died—I take it seriously, Jethro, and I'm not being weak—I'm so sorry I was such a _bitch—_I," she broke off. "I have this nightmare, where I'm waiting at the airport and instead of my dad, an Army chaplain comes to get me and tells me he's never coming home—and I run home looking for him, but there's just a flag folded on his study desk—I've always had it—but now I have it, and they give me the flag, and I turn to you—because you're there, too, except—then you have a bullet in your forehead, and there's blood on my face, and two flags—and this time the Taliban had my father—"

She dissolved into tears again, and he sighed, shifting. He crawled onto her bed and stretched out, tugging her close to him so he could wrap his arms around her better. He'd had no idea she had nightmares about him—he'd never been deployed, so he didn't think it would really—affect her so badly.

She turned her face into his chest and kept crying, and he forgave her for what she'd said earlier. He'd given into the sort of misplaced rage that came with confusion and suffering after Shannon died, and he at least knew he had to give her some room to lash out before he reigned her in.

He ran his hands through her hair and pressed his lips to her temple, soothing her without words. She didn't calm down for a long time. Ike placed his snout on the bed near her feet and whined, and Gibbs shared a wary look with the dog. He was afraid she was going to cry herself sick, but when she reached the point when she barely had tears anymore, she fell silent, and just curled closer to him, her hands slipping under his shirt and tangling into the soft cotton.

Her fingers slipped around the dog tags—tag, because he'd given her one of them on a fateful day in June—he always wore, and pulled tight, as if securing him to her.

He let her dig her nails into him, and just ran his hands over her.

"You want tea or somethin'?" he asked gruffly, his lips near her ear.

She shook her head, her lips finding is.

"I want you to stay," she said, kissing him slowly. "I don't want to have sex," she clarified quietly, "but I want you to sleep here."

He was wary of the idea, because he wasn't sure what the Colonel had in mind when he ordered Gibbs to stay with Jenny. He didn't have time to think about that, though, and he didn't think he'd be able to tell Jen he was going back to sleep in the study, anyway. She was too upset, and she needed the rest.

He nodded, and kissed her back. He tried not to think about sex—but it was somewhat of a turn on, being in her bed with her, in the Colonel's house. She didn't reject his mild advances, though he knew she didn't want to go all the way—he wouldn't want her to associate it with her father's arrest, anyway—but still, he was willing to distract her enough, and give her enough stress relief in the familiar sexual territory she'd already acquiesced to, to put her to sleep—hopefully dreamlessly.

He was awake long after she'd curled up next to him, small and warm in his arms, and he kept staring at the half-open door. He smirked—the door was open. He was technically following the rules—and with Jen mostly naked and finally asleep next to him, he made a mental note to fix the doorknob and rolled onto his stomach.

He buried his face in her hair, and fell asleep.

* * *

Her father called her on Thursday morning to tell her not to worry—but it was the fastest, most vague conversation she'd ever had with him, and it made everything worse—so the last thing she expected on Sunday morning was to be woken up by a loudly slamming door.

She blinked awake slowly and sat up, looking around, thinking Gibbs must have gotten up early and forgotten she was asleep or—nope, he was dead sleep next to her, his head face down in her pillow. Jenny furrowed her brow, and then Ike howled at her bedroom door, and she got up, grabbing her t-shirt and sleep shorts and pulling them on. She swung the broken door open and peered out.

"Noemi?" she called sluggishly.

"Try again."

She bolted out of her room and hit the bannister so hard she nearly flung herself over it. There he stood, in the hall, on Easter morning, a large, garishly decorated basket in his hands and a smug grin on his face.

She let out a shriek that probably woke Gibbs up immediately and flew down the stairs, Ike at her heels.

"_Daddy_!" she shouted, flinging herself at him. He balanced the basket expertly and caught her, hugging her tightly and pressing a content kiss to the crown of his daughter's head.

"Miss me?" he drawled flippantly.

She struggled away from him and slapped him repeatedly on the shoulders.

"That was worse than any deployment—what the _fuck—"_

"Jennifer, I think we've had enough of you and the fuck word," the Colonel interrupted dryly, still smarting from hearing her swear so violently at Agent Franks. He raised his eyebrows and adjusted his hold on the basket, cupping her chin in his hands. "I'm off the hook, Little J."

She clasped her hands, and glanced up—Gibbs cleared his throat, standing up by the bannister in sweatpants and no shirt and looking half-asleep. He nodded at the Colonel, and Colonel Shepard nodded back—and though his jaw tightened warily, he made no comment on the fact that they'd both just come out of the same bedroom.

He turned to Jenny and tapped the side of her head, heaving a sigh.

"Hell of a week, huh?"

"Understatement," she growled. "What the-what happened?" she demanded, catching herself to prevent a curse word, and folding her arms. Her eyes stung, but she held back the tears.

"You want to hear it over breakfast?" the Colonel asked gruffly, indicating the basket. "You go get ready, I'll hide this?" he suggested, bravely keeping tradition. "Or you too old?"

She shook her head, and then turned to go up the stairs. She stopped near the landing, her hand resting on Gibbs' shoulder.

"Dad," she hung over the bannister again, eyeing him. "Just—spoiler alert: just tell me, who framed you?"

His eyes took on a heavy look, but he mustered a good-natured twinkle and straightened.

"Rene Benoit, if you believe it," he revealed. "Turns out, he has another name—slimy little codename, too," he growled.

Jenny's mouth opened, and she turned to Gibbs. She pinched him hard, a vindictive smirk on her face.

She didn't need to say _I told you so_, he gave her a grudging look and accepted defeat.

She threw one last delighted look at the Colonel, and dashed into the shower—the faster she got ready, the better.

The Colonel glared up at Gibbs, and Gibbs returned the look. The last time they'd stood like this, Agent Franks had dragged him out in cuffs.

"You stayed the week?" he demanded gruffly.

Gibbs just nodded.

The Colonel smiled tightly, as if accepting something.

"You better get ready for Easter breakfast, son."

* * *

_hey, uh, i'm 21 now. :D _

_feedback please ! _

-_alexandra_

_**this is another chapter where I should note my rudimentary knowledge of the Military aka all of that about Gibbs & sniper school is basically bullshit, probably. _


	18. Ol' Blue Eyes

_A/N:__ I swear to god this chapter is so cute, I can't. _

* * *

_Chapter Sixteen_

_Ol' Blue Eyes_

* * *

Glancing surreptitiously between her phone and the crowded restaurant, Jenny dragged Gibbs in a zigzag pattern through the maze of tables, trying to follow instructions on her iPhone and find the table Ziva had reserved. She stopped, frowned, and looked up one last time—and she saw Ziva's fiancé stand up and wave them over. She grinned, and dragged Gibbs again.

"Damon," she said in relief, leaning forward and resting her arm on his shoulder. She kissed his cheek chastely, and then tugged Gibbs forward. "This is my boyfriend, Leroy Jethro Gibbs," she said, tapping his chest. "Jethro, Damon Werth, Green Beret," she said, dropping Gibbs' hand and stepping past the two men to greet Ziva.

She listened as Gibbs and Damon shook hands and sized each other up, and then finished hugging Ziva and slid into the booth across from her. Gibbs sat down next to her, and Jenny sighed, leaning back.

"I'm so sorry we're late," she started.

"Traffic?" Ziva asked.

"You wouldn't believe," Jenny groaned, nodding her head. "We lost track of time at Quantico and then, bam, rush hour," she groused, trailing off. She sat forward and drew a menu towards her. "Did we keep you waiting long?" she asked.

"No; we ordered an appetizer," Ziva answered, and then smirked wryly as the waiter appeared with a tray of alcohol. "And drinks," she added smugly.

The waiter passed around drinks, and then looked at Gibbs and Jenny expectantly.

"They've got a hell of a house-made beer," Damon said gruffly, holding the dark brew up to Gibbs. "Give it a try."

Gibbs smiled a little warily. He shook his head. Jenny elbowed him.

"Get it," she said, waving her hand. She arched an eyebrow earnestly. "I won't tell my Dad," she promised, and turned briskly to the waiter. "Um, that beer for him," she said, pointing at Damon's drink, "and I'd like sweet tea, with lemon," she ordered.

"You tryin' to get me killed?" Gibbs demanded, glaring at her when the waiter was gone.

"Get a grip, you and Dad are like, bros now," Jenny mocked, smirking and poking him in the shoulder.

"Not if he finds out I'm drinking," Gibbs growled.

Jenny rolled her eyes and rested her hand on his arm.

"He's not supposed to drink around me," she informed Damon helpfully. "It was a rule _before_ he got me completely wasted on Halloween, but it's a bigger rule since then—"

"I didn't pour whiskey down your throat," Gibbs protested loudly.

"Yes, he did," Jenny deadpanned, looking at Ziva and Damon solemnly.

Ziva smiled at her, and Damon arched an eyebrow, shooting Gibbs a sympathetic look. Gibbs shared it, and then glared down at his menu, looking warily at the unique items—Ziva had chosen the restaurant, so naturally it was Eastern themed.

"What's good?" Jenny asked.

"Everything," Damon offered.

"Come here a lot?"

Damon laughed, jerking his thumb at Ziva.

"She's knows the chef. Where's he from, babe?" Damon asked, brow furrowing.

"Yemen," Ziva replied silkily, and slid a menu insert to Jenny. "Falafel," she recommended, almost aggressively. Jenny giggled, and took the menu, perusing it lightly.

She nodded in thanks when their drinks were brought to them, and then leaned back and tilted her head.

"How was Israel?" she asked—Ziva had gone to Israel for the Passover season this year, which encompassed Easter Sunday, since she hadn't gone home for Christmas. It had also been the first time Damon had met her family.

"Hot," Damon muttered.

Gibbs snorted.

"Not used to the desert?" he asked.

Damon groaned.

"Can't stand it, since my deployment in oh-four," he said frankly. "'M from Colorado," he added, smirking. "I can take feet of snow, but throw me in a desert and trainin's the only thing keepin' me from goin' AWOL."

Gibbs nodded, seeming to agree. Jenny didn't think Gibbs liked hot weather very much, considering he'd hardly ever worn a coat in the dead of winter and yet had still been warm when she snuggled up to him.

"How long you been out?" Gibbs asked.

"Two'n a half years," Damon answered, and Jenny leaned closer to Ziva, leaving the guys to discuss military details while she talked with her martial arts instructor.

"How did it go?" she asked. "Your Aba, did he like Damon?"

Ziva arched an eyebrow and shrugged.

"He made no comment either way," she said. "He is very difficult to interpret, my father. But my mother and Tali, those are two who are an open essay—"

"Book, babe," Damon corrected lightly, going right back to his conversation with Gibbs.

"—book," Ziva amended smoothly. "Tali is already planning the wedding, and my mother liked Damon very much," she said, smiling wryly.

"Tali knows you want Edelweiss in your bouquet, right?" Jenny asked, smirking knowingly. "And that you want the _Something Good_ instrumental playing as you walk down the aisle?"

Ziva hastily made a show of shrugging and looking non-committal.

"I have allowed Tali some freedom in occupying herself with plans," she said vaguely. She looked a little sad. "She is sixteen, now, and with myself in the States and my older brother in medical school, she is rather bored at home, alone."

"You should get married and have a baby quick," Jenny deadpanned. Ziva swatted her with the menu and shot her a narrow look.

"And how will I teach you Krav Maga then?" she demanded, turning up her nose.

"I'll teach 'er," Damon offered, leaning back.

He slipped his arms around Ziva and shot her a wolfish look.

"We're gonna be real good at havin' kids, eh?" he snickered.

She just cocked an eyebrow.

"Damon mentions children and forgets that I am the one who must have them," she said dryly.

"Men," snorted Jenny, over-exaggerating and then leaning over and crinkling her nose fondly at Gibbs.

Their waiter returned with Ziva and Damon's appetizer, and then took their entrée orders. It wasn't long into the very interesting kabobs that Ziva had ordered before she turned her intense eyes on Jenny and inquired about the Colonel.

"Shepard," Damon muttered, tilting his head. He shook his head. "Didn't believe a word of it when I saw it on the news," he growled. "Never worked with The Hound myself," he said wryly, "but I reckon he'd let 'em tar and feather 'im before he betrayed this country. Liked what you yelled at the press, though," he added, winking at Jenny.

Gibbs smirked, and ran his hand over her thigh under the table. She leaned forward, elbows in front of her in a breach of etiquette, and lifted her eyes to the ceiling, preparing to give details.

"It was this elaborate ruse, Mike Frank's idea," she explained, pushing her hair back. "Except they didn't read my father in," she added distastefully. "He knew something was off, because they stopped communicating with him about where they were in the case, and what was going on with the people who report to him—and then they arrested him," she pointed out.

"Quietly," Gibbs growled. "Then leaked it to the damn media."

"For attention to be drawn directly onto him," Jenny added, nodding. She frowned. "Agent Franks—wasn't sure Dad was completely clean of any wrongdoing, so they took the element of surprise, and when it became clear he wasn't a conspirator, they explained that they needed to hold him and grill him until their real suspect tried to make a run for it."

Ziva tilted her head, listening intently.

"Your father, did he believe his partner was involved?"

"No," Jenny said contemptuously. "They told him they thought it was Rene Benoit, who was using his charity foundations as a front to launder money, and his U.S. Army connections to move around arms deals, and Dad refused to believe it—until he saw the proof."

Damon whistled.

"Benoit," he swore. "I never thought—that pompous Frenchman," he snorted.

Gibbs smirked and folded his arms, agreeing with the assessment.

"He was bribing Dad's officers to assist him in obscuring paperwork and arms trails," Jenny explained distastefully. "Blackmailing some of them, using their kids—Franks thought that if it went on any longer, he'd eventually need to use _me_ to get _Dad_ to cooperate on something."

Ziva pointed a fork at Jenny.

"You are trained well enough to fight off an attempted kidnapping," she said seriously.

"Yeah," Jenny laughed, "and Dad decided he's gonna station Gibbs within one hundred meters of me from now on, to take out potential threats."

Damon grinned, and Jenny tilted her head at Gibbs.

"He's a sniper, with the Corps," she clarified.

"Damn fine snipers, devil dogs," Damon said, nodding approvingly. "Got a few buddies who went through training at Pendleton—you at Quantico?"

"Mid-training now," Gibbs said. He leaned back. "Took, ah, emergency leave when her old man got taken in."

"They cleared him to return to school," Jenny said, wincing a little—she was still uncomfortable with what a risk he'd taken asking for the leave just because he didn't want her to go through her father's arrest alone, and she was immensely relieved the board had allowed him back—he had to repeat two weeks, though, as a sort of punishment, so he'd be finished with training in May rather than earlier.

Gibbs hadn't mentioned to Jenny that he was positive Colonel Shepard had called in about a thousand favors to get him secured in sniper training school. He'd been prepared to be booted out when at the last minute they'd cleared his emergency leave, and he knew it wasn't because they thought babysitting his girlfriend was a good excuse. He didn't want Jenny to feel horrible, so he kept quiet, but he and the Colonel had an understanding there.

He noticed that Damon seemed to guess, too, that the Colonel had pulled strings. He nodded at him, and Gibbs decided he liked Damon.

"What will happen to Rene Benoit's little daughter?" Ziva asked, perhaps thinking of how badly her family had been affected when her father had once been imprisoned, before he left Mossad and decided to live a more mundane life.

"Her French mother is taking her," Jenny said. "It turns out, Benoit's father-in-law got him into the business; he's Russian. Anatoly-something or other. Jeanne's mother found out what was going on and tried to divorce Rene and turn him in, and he forged custody papers, took off with Jeanne to the United States, and calmly threatened to hurt Jeanne if the mother ever tried to act against him," Jenny explained. Her face fell a little—she felt bad for all of the bad blood between her and Jeanne, now that the other girl was being uprooted back to Europe, and finding out her father had essentially been holding her hostage. "She grew up thinking her mother had cheated and didn't want her."

Damon swore, his face dark. Gibbs set his jaw—it was all very unpleasant, and even though it had been a week and all that remained was paperwork, and the mess of Benoit's web for NCIS and Army CID to clean up, he still didn't like to dwell on how bad that weekend had been.

"Gibbs, where've you spent your time in the Marines?" Damon asked, changing the subject.

"Pendleton," Gibbs started. He shrugged. "Lookin' at time in the Middle East, I reckon," he started, and Jenny made a face, shivered, and turned to Ziva—she always chose to ignore him when he mentioned that distasteful probability.

Ziva cocked her head to the side and touched her lips thoughtfully, arching her brows. She pointed elegantly at Jenny.

"Your eighteenth birthday is this weekend," she mused.

Jenny smiled wryly, and battered her lashes primly, nodding.

"I wonder what my boyfriend is going to get me," she said, raising her voice in increments as she spoke.

Gibbs stopped talk to Damon and glared at her.

"Quit fishin'," he growled at her pointedly.

Jenny gave a loud, derisive snort, and raised her hand, pretending to shield herself from him and looking at Ziva seriously.

"You hear that? He's taking me _fishing_," she gossiped, cutting a teasing glare at Gibbs.

Ziva smirked, and leaned back, glancing up as their food arrived.

"He must have some particularly fine bait lined up," she remarked slyly.

Jenny turned to Gibbs, arched her eyebrows expectantly, and grinned.

* * *

"Jennifer."

Jenny looked up at the sound of her father's voice. He stood in the doorway warily, in full uniform, just home from work. She opened her mouth to answer, and then noticed his hands were full of—

"What are those?" she asked, narrowing her eyes and glaring at the envelopes.

He thumbed through them.

"Colleges," he said neutrally. "Noemi left 'em sittin' on my desk, with a couple Pentagon papers that came for me," he went on gruffly. "Figure she didn't realize they were yours." He started forward, holding his hands out, and she bolted upright, throwing her hands up.

"Wait," she muttered, turning her head so her hair fell in her face. "Dad," she paused again. She frowned, and sat back on her legs, cocking her head at him. She sighed. "I—you know, I didn't get in to Vanderbilt," she muttered.

"Well, everyone in Tennessee is a goddamn brain dead moron," the Colonel retorted seriously.

She gave him a withering look. She looked like she was about to defend them, and then she stopped, and snorted.

"Kimberly's from Tennessee," she remarked icily. "So—no. Dad, if it weren't for Tennessee, the nineteenth amendment wouldn't have passed."

"Is that the one that authorizes me to murder Gibbs if I ever see him put his hands on your…_behind_…again?"

Jenny flushed slightly—her father had happened to walk into the kitchen while Gibbs was joking around with Jenny and kept copping a feel when she went on tiptoes to reach the hot chocolate, and he'd slapped him in the back of the head so hard, Jethro was still complaining about seeing white spots.

"I assure you, father, there's nothing about you personally or my ass in the Constitution," she retorted dryly.

"There should be," he muttered dangerously, starting to brood, and Jenny cocked her head.

"I," she began. She swallowed hard. "There's small envelopes and big ones in your hands," she said.

"Yeah," he agreed warily.

She compressed her lips and took a deep breath.

"I had decided I wanted to go to Vandy," she admitted, again—she'd already cried over this to her father once, and he'd awkwardly spent the whole time telling her she was smarter than God and that everyone at Vandy was stupid, and it had…not worked. "And I've now narrowed it down to two other schools," she went on warily. "So I…can you just look at the little ones, and tell me what schools the little ones are from?"

"Why's it matter?"

"Small envelopes are rejections," she said in an apprehensive voice.

"How'd you know?" the Colonel asked suspiciously—she always forgot, because he was so smart, that he'd never gone to college and he didn't know how the process worked.

"Upon acceptance, I'll receive forms to send in and housing booklets," she explained, and gestured at his haul of letters. "That stuff…doesn't come in small envelopes."

He nodded.

"How many colleges you still waitin' on?" he asked.

"Six," she answered, after calculating quickly. "I got in to Mason and Tulane," she added.

He nodded again, curtly, and cleared his throat. She shuffled his things around until he was eyeing the small envelopes, and Jenny felt a pang of annoyance that there were any small envelopes at all—she had kind of been under the impression she'd get in anywhere she applied, and when she didn't receive an offer from Vanderbilt—at first she'd blown it off, but then it had just—nagged at her.

"What universities had you narrowed it to?" he asked neutrally.

"Notre Dame," she said. "And—um, well," she paused. "University of Pennsylvania."

She'd applied to Penn because she wanted to apply to an Ivy League school, and she loved how beautiful their campus was. She'd gotten more interested lately—partly because Pennsylvania was Gibbs' home state, and Philadelphia was only two hours from Stillwater. The Colonel looked at the envelopes in his hand and cleared his throat. He hadn't reviewed them, but when he looked over the rejections—he hid a smile, and then looked up. He held one up.

"Small envelope: Sarah Lawrence college," he announced, and let it fall to the floor—and silently, he was grateful, because he hated the idea of Jenny going to some stuffy, radically feminist college like that—he was too old fashioned and irritable.

Jenny blinked, and her eyes followed the letter.

"Small envelope: University of Virginia," he went on.

Jenny opened her mouth, and a look of annoyance crossed her face.

"Are you—_Nina_," she growled, breaking off. She looked glum, and then smirked a little, shrugging. "Nina must have got in," she said to herself. She cleared her head, and lifted her eyes to her father again.

"Small envelope: Rice University," her father said, almost before she was ready.

She felt a small pang in her heart, and a stinging in her eyes—she had really had a special place in her heart for Texas, and it was suddenly very upsetting that she hadn't gotten into that prestigious university. She took a deep breath—if she hadn't gotten UVA or Rice—she didn't want to hear—

"Big envelope," her father said loudly, tossing one at her like a Frisbee. "University of Heidelberg," he said, and then chucked her the next one: "Georgia," he listed, "Notre Dame and," he stepped forward and threw the last one at her gently, smirking at her, "University of Pennsylvania."

She sat there, shocked for a moment—she'd gotten into one of the Ivies-? And—Notre Dame? She pushed her hair back, and then covered her eyes and tried to figure out if she was going to cry, and then she leapt up onto her bed and smiled, grinning at her father wildly.

He put his hands behind his back, at ease, and considered her seriously, amused by her reaction. She started jumping on the bed slightly, wrinkling some of the large, full envelopes at her feet and he laughed, glad she was happy by the revelation. She had a good pool to choose from—and he did like that all of them seemed to have no connection to where Gibbs would be, because as much as he did like Gibbs these days, he didn't want her making decisions based on his deployments or Marine bases.

The Colonel cleared his throat and lifted his chin.

"Who do I make the check out to?" he demanded proudly.

She suddenly collapsed on her bed, her lips parted. She looked slightly bemused—like she'd forgotten she had to decide, and then compressed her lips and ran her hands through her hair, laughing little.

She gathered the envelopes in her hands—she had a lot of reading, and analyzing, and hard thinking to do, and tilted her head up, pursing her lips.

"May first," she said, chewing on her lip. "I have until—May first."

She had thirty-one days to make one of the most definitive decisions of her life to date.

* * *

Holly leaned back in the red plastic booth and arched an eyebrow as a four-year-old child ran past their table screaming hysterically as his exasperated mother chased him. She grabbed her Styrofoam cup off the table and chewed on the straw.

"We spend four years waiting to be second-semester seniors so we can go off campus for lunch," she began, glaring at Nina and Jenny both, "and you two drag me to _McDonald's_ like nine out of ten times."

"What do you have against the golden arches?" Jenny retorted, admiring the large order of fries on her tray.

"We could totally be at like, a Chili's," Holly answered. "What is the deal with McDonald's?" she whined.

"Nuh-uh," Nina retorted. "There's no guarantee Chili's would be fast enough," she pointed out. "Also," she added, picking up her chicken nuggets and rattling them happily, "nuggets!"

Holly made a face and rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

"You can't blame us for your poor choices," Jenny said loftily, gesturing distastefully at Holly's salad. "If you get a salad at McDonald's, it's totally your own fault," she accused.

"You know their salads have basically as many calories as the Big Mac," Nina pointed out loudly.

"I prefer caloric lettuce to eating chicken nuggets made out of genetically tortured chickens."

"Delicious genetically tortured chickens," Jenny said seriously.

Holly opened the top of her cup and chucked ice cubes at Jenny. Jenny snorted and swatted them away, and Nina shrugged, tearing into her chicken nuggets with nonchalance.

"I think they make them out of government dissidents in the motherland, so I'll take mutant X-Chickens," she said blithely.

Jenny cackled, and Holly bit back a smile.

"I hate you guys," she said good-naturedly. "Mark won't even eat lunch with us when we go to McDonald's," she pouted.

Jenny laughed loudly.

"Mark considers egg protein smoothies lunch," she pointed out.

"Yeah, he's a gross dork," Holly agreed, laughing. She pointed at Jenny with her straw, tipping ice into her mouth. "It's healthy, though, so—you know, he doesn't really taste bad."

She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

"Thought you didn't swallow," Jenny retorted.

"It still touches my tongue sometimes," Holly said indignantly.

"Then _why_ don't you just _swallow_ it?" Jenny demanded, rolling her eyes.

Holly looked at her primly.

"Because I am not a redheaded harlot with no morals."

This time, Jenny threw four French fries at Holly, and Nina glared at them both menacingly.

"I'm trying to eat my chicken nuggets," she growled at them seriously.

Holly picked up a packet of blue cheese and handed it to her innocently. Nina smacked it away, and Jenny snorted, wrinkling her nose. She picked up the tossed aside dressing and examined it.

"Blue cheese wouldn't be a bad flavor," she decided.

Holly cocked her head wickedly.

"What does Gibbs taste like?"

Jenny slammed her hand down, giving Holly a warning look.

"I will leave the table immediately," she threatened.

Holly struck her tongue out; Jenny lunged forward and grabbed it, earning a look of outrage from her cheerleader friend. She lowered her voice.

"He tastes like _freedom,"_ she drawled seductively, and released Holly's tongue.

Holly burst out laughing, and Nina grinned, shaking her head. Jenny shot her a narrow look and turned up her nose—definitely time to change the subject. Jenny didn't consider herself too much of a prude, but Holly had a habit of pushing her into total Charlotte York mode, as Nina called it. But, she'd been trying to give a little Samantha Jones back. Satisfied that Holly was done teasing her, Jenny gave her a moody look and aggressively looked at her lunch. Holly leaned forward, burying her face in her cup for a moment and coming up with a mouthful of ice and her eyebrows raised. She clenched her teeth tightly and chewed on the ice pointedly.

"Crunch time," she joked, pointing at her mouth, and then looking at both of them. "All the college decisions are in, right?" she asked.

Jenny nodded, and Nina inclined her head in agreement.

"All's that's left is decisions," Holly said, pushing her hair back and sitting up straighter. "For y'all, that is," she added. She chewed on her lip. "I committed to Hawaii."

Jenny grinned and covered her mouth for a moment, chewing and swallowing, and then reached out and squeezed Holly's hand.

"That's awesome, Hol!" she complimented. "Hawaii, ugh," she groaned enviously, smirking. "You'll never get any work done."

"But I'll be so tan," Holly snickered, striking a pose. She smiled a little wryly and rested an elbow on the table. "Mark—Mark committed to LSU," she revealed.

Nina glanced at Jenny and then looked at Holly and raised her brows.

"He knows you're going to Hawaii?" she asked.

Holly nodded, looking a little off-kilter.

"We made the decision to do our own evaluation of our options, then meet up and reveal what we'd chosen, and we'd go from there. I picked Hawaii and he picked LSU, and," Holly paused. "We're gonna call it quits when the semesters start in the fall."

Nina stopped chewing and stared at her thoughtfully. She nodded to herself.

"You'll be okay, Holly," she sad good-naturedly.

Holly looked up intently, and stared at Jenny.

"You know," she said. "It's weird—because I know I'll be okay," she said. "I mean, I think I'll cry for days when I get there, while I'm getting used to it," she explained. "But…I've been with Mark a long time. But I don't feel like….the _oh, he's the one_, feeling. I'd know it when I felt it. Maybe he's just my high school boyfriend. Maybe not. But I can't stay with him if I'm not sure, right?"

She looked at her friends for validation.

Nina nodded again, smiling. Jenny tilted her head and let it sink in. She catalogued Holly's words, and thought about Gibbs—and then, she asked:

"When you think about being married and having kids someday, is Mark their father?" she asked curiously.

Holly waved her straw around.

"I don't want kids," she said flippantly. She cocked her head. "But you know, I never really did write his last name on my books or talk about marriage with him—I don't know, I guess I imagined a faceless groom, or never assumed Mark and I would last...actually, I don't really think about getting married," she shrugged. "I love him," she muttered, and then frowned. "This is weird," she laughed, and then looked at Jenny with interest. "You think about Jethro, when you consider that stuff?"

Jenny blinked, caught off guard.

"Oh—yeah," she answered, and then frowned at herself; she hadn't meant to say yes to _Holly_ of all people. She didn't want her friends to tease her or think she was stupid, because she was seventeen—going on eighteen—and apparently some part of her ridiculously thought she would be with Gibbs forever—it was probably just a first boyfriend thing—but then, Holly said she didn't think about Mark that way—

"Mmm," Holly murmured, winking at Jenny. "You're in love with him."

Jenny glared at her. Holly shrugged matter-of-factly and, with Nina looking at her intently, Jenny blushed and shoved her hair back, hastily shifting the focus away from her.

_"Nina's_ the one with the real decision to make—you got into every single college, didn't you?" she demanded.

Nina chewed very carefully and then slowly nodded, her mouth a thin composed line. Holly elbowed her.

"Smile, you fucking idiot, we don't care if you're smug," she pointed out proudly, grinning at the brunette. "You're a smart ass and we love it."

Nina grinned, and Jenny rolled her eyes affectionately.

"Your problem is narrowing, like, twenty down to five and then seeing who's going to beg the hardest for you," Jenny teased.

"My parents are pushing Stanford, because Misha goes there, and they want to make it a legacy." Nina said quietly. She hesitated. "I like the idea of California, but I think my heart's in MIT."

"So's Tim McGee's, he committed after early action," Holly pointed out. She snorted, and then pointed between Jenny and Nina wickedly. "Who's gonna be valedictorian?" she demanded.

"Her," Nina and Jenny said at the same time, pointing at each other.

Jenny sipped her soda and shook her head simply.

"Nope," she denied. "I'm making a B in AP Chem, and I can't pull it up," she said frankly. She tilted her head. "It's gonna be you, babe. Salutatorian for me."

Nina chewed on her lip.

"Jenny," she said warily. "If you're making a B in Chem, Tim's probably going to beat you out," she revealed. She looked a little annoyed herself. "It's possible he'll beat me, if he pulls his AP history grade up to an A."

"What the fuck?" Jenny asked bluntly, staring. "I thought he was ineligible because he came in junior year—and I thought he got a B in gym!"

Nina shook her head.

"No, he told me he trained with his dad and ended up running a three and a half minute mile, he got the A in gym," she said. "And his stuff does count, so if he ties with me or you, they're going to weight the GPAs, and he's got more APs than either of, since his old school offered more."

Jenny made a face and clamped her teeth down on her straw, slightly miffed—she had accepted in December that Nina was probably going to cinch valedictorian, but she'd been counting on second, and her feathers were ruffled-

"Do _not_ sit there and pout over graduating third," Holly said loudly, rolling her eyes. She flicked a piece of paper at Jenny and sticking out her tongue. "You got into fuckin' Penn, like your class rank even matters."

Jenny groaned.

"But just think, Tim McGee giving a speech? Holl-_yyyyyyy_," she whined, and Holly held up her hand, refusing to hear it. Nina laughed, and then munched on the last of her food, looking at Jenny with interest.

"You'll be one of the Fighting Irish come fall, right?" she asked.

Jenny shrugged vaguely.

"I'm looking more at Penn," she admitted. She'd been going back and forth, and she liked both—so it was good she had a month to go. It was a good thing money wasn't too much of an issue, what with her father's G.I. Bill, or she'd definitely be going to Georgia, since they offered her a full ride.

"Why the change?" Holly asked. "Dude, you're a redhead, go to Notre Dame."

Jenny snorted.

"Jethro's from Pennsylvania—"

"Whoa," Holly interrupted. "We all totally pinky swore freshman year that we'd never base college on a boy. I know that pinky swear was targeted at _me,_ but Jenny, come on—"

"It's not because of him; he doesn't live there," she said testily, lifting her chin. "I really—loved driving through Pennsylvania, and I loved that little town he's from—and it's a nice distance from Daddy without being too far to visit home," she paused, and shrugged. "I'm still deciding."

Holly gave her a searching look, and Nina cocked her head to one side.

"Speaking of Jethro," she began. "What's he doing for your birthday?" she asked.

It was Wednesday, and Jenny's birthday was Friday—April fourth. She grinned and licked her lips, leaning forward with her fingers pressed together wickedly.

"Oh, you know," she drawled impishly, "planning some surprise that I'm quite sure involves a bonfire, unless all that lumber in his truck is actually for the boat I asked him to build me."

Holly and Nina looked at each other dubiously, and then glared at Jenny in tandem.

"He's going to be so pissed you know," Nina said dryly, smirking.

Holly held up her hands.

"I so did not tell you—Jenny, you make sure you tell him I _so_ did not tell you, because he's _definitely_ convinced I can't keep a secret."

Jenny leaned back and grinned, pushing her hair back again—she really couldn't wait until Friday.

* * *

For as long as she could remember, it had been tradition for the Colonel to take Jenny out for breakfast bright and early on the morning of her birthday. It had started when she was very young, about five; he'd been set to deploy at nine fifteen the morning of her birthday, and he'd woken her up and taken her to a Cracker Barrel to say goodbye and spend time alone with her. He claimed she then insisted primly that they were going to do morning breakfast every birthday, and exempting the one-year he'd been deployed on her birthday, they always had.

This year he had mentioned taking her somewhere ultra fancy and very expensive, considering eighteen was an important birthday, but she'd insisted they go to another greasy diner like they always did—she didn't think she wanted to eat a breakfast that cost a ridiculous price, knowing eggs were eggs and bacon was bacon and that was the end of that. They ended up at the Florida Avenue Grill, which she chose because she knew it was frequented by government officials in spite of its hole-in-the-wall laid back aura, and she was hoping to catch a glimpse of someone.

"You seen Hillary yet?" The Colonel asked gruffly, perusing the menu seriously.

"No," Jenny retorted, peeking over her menu critically. "I'm trying to decide if that woman at the breakfast bar is Nancy Pelosi."

"Does she have red horns sticking out of her head?"

"Dad," Jenny admonished, glaring at him. "No," she added in a mutter.

"S'not her, then," Jasper snorted smugly, proud of himself. Jenny rolled her eyes and buried her face in the menu. She tilted her head, and then peeked over it again, arching her eyebrows.

"What if I get country ham, grits, waffles, two pieces of bacon, a scrambled egg, _and_ hash browns?" she asked.

"You can't eat all that," her father retorted.

"Is that a challenge?"

"Don't make yourself sick, Jennifer."

"It's my birthday; I can do whatever I want," she retorted brazenly, flipping her hair jokingly. She licked her lips. "I'm going to order all of it and eat two bites of everything and take the rest home to my dog."

"Ike'll get sick if you give him all that."

"Oh, I meant Jethro."

The Colonel snorted, and put down his menu.

"I'll just order coffee and eat your leftovers."

"I seriously resent you for thinking I can't eat all of this," she told him petulantly.

"I bet you—"

"One night at Jethro's apartment," she interrupted slyly.

The Colonel blinked at her, and then narrowed his eyes.

"What?" he growled.

"You bet me one night at Jethro's apartment that I can't eat all of this, and if I do—"

"I am not your…_pimp_, Jennifer!" Jasper roared, flustered.

She gave a high-pitched giggle, leaning back in her booth—she hadn't expected him to interpret it _that_ way. She just shook her head, closing her own menu—she was definitely ordering like twenty things and attempting to eat all of it, but she wasn't looking to bet on it. Her father glared at her, and they waited for their waitress to pop over and deal with them.

"Will you buy me Starbucks before school?" Jenny asked, cocking her head.

"You're havin' coffee here."

"I _thought_ you loved me."

"Jennifer," he growled.

"It's my _birthday_," she accused.

He have her a baleful look, and conceded, nodding his head. She beamed at him primly. He tried to keep a stern expression, but smiled anyway—and when the waitress arrived, he just rolled his eyes as Jenny ordered everything she'd said she was going to order, and a cup of coffee.

"Two eggs over easy, bacon, and a pancake," the Colonel answered gruffly, and then reached into his pocket and chucked a candle into the waitress hands. He gestured at Jenny. "Stick that on her waffle, she's old," he requested sternly, obviously trying to remain manly even though he'd just put a pink, glittery, number-eighteen shaped candle into the waitress's hands.

The waitress grinned, nodded, and hopped off—and Jenny crinkled her nose and glared at her father.

"If they sing to me…I'll kill you," she threatened.

The Colonel looked smug.

"I'm an adult," she informed him, narrowing her eyes.

He shrugged.

"It's your last birthday with me, Jennifer," he answered frankly. "I don't give a damn if you're an adult, you're gettin' a pink sparkly candle on your waffle."

She pursed her lips and folded her arms. She couldn't look stern, so she just smiled in disbelief.

"My last birthday with you?" she asked skeptically. "You gonna die on me, Pops?"

He shrugged.

"Nah, m' not goin' anywhere," he said. "You are," he pointed out. "You think you're gonna come home from Indiana or Pennsylvania in the middle of the semester for breakfast?"

She smiled softly and shrugged, lifting her chin.

"Pennsylvania isn't such a long drive," she said stubbornly.

He grinned at her, and leaned forward, pulling the coffee mug the waitress had just brought towards him.

"You leanin' towards Pennsylvania, then?" he asked.

"Notre Dame's housing is so swanky," she sighed appreciatively. "But it is Catholic, and though I'm familiar with the doctrine, I don't know about a religiously-affiliated education."

"Your grandparents would be thrilled," the Colonel remarked, referring to her maternal grandparents.

Jenny nodded.

"I know, and Grandfather went to Notre Dame, so you know that's why I looked," she said conversationally. "Legacy, and all." She shrugged, and hesitated. "But it's very oriented towards engineering, and Penn is well-rounded, and I'm looking at social sciences."

Her father studied her, nodding attentively as she talked. She shrugged again and reached for her own coffee, lifting it to her lips.

"You decided what you're going to study?"

"No," she murmured briskly, and then tilted her head. "Neither university will let me take Ike, so maybe I should scrap college and become a stripper."

The Colonel gave her an annoyed look and rolled his eyes. She smirked, and stirred some sugar and a small bit of creamer into her coffee, sweetening it just a little and laughing to herself when she imagined Gibbs griping about it—he and the Colonel were both black coffee men.

Jasper cleared his throat and smacked his hand on the table lightly.

"Hey, quit daydreamin' about that idiot while I'm treatin' you to breakfast," he ordered sharply.

Her mouth fell open.

"How did you—"

"There's a look in your eye."

She flushed.

"How appalling," she said dryly, and sipped on her coffee.

"What's he doin' for your birthday?" Jasper asked.

"Palena," Jenny reminded him, for the millionth time, "and he's planned a bonfire after that, although it's a surprise."

Her father glared at her.

"Yeah, I know, I told 'im he could keep you out late," he growled, narrowing his eyes. "How do _you_ know?"

"I know everything," Jenny retorted primly.

She smiled brightly, excited for the evening, and drank her coffee smugly. The Colonel rolled his eyes, and then shifted, eyeing her intently.

"Where'd we go last year, for breakfast?" he asked.

"Like you don't remember," she snorted, arching a brow. "You said you'd never go to the Wicked Waffle again!"

He pretended to look annoyed.

"You'd swear off a place, too, if your kid handed you a check and a finance plan and demanded you deliver on a dumbass promise you made."

"I do love my red Mustang," she sang, dancing a little in place—it had been on her seventeenth birthday when she'd gathered all of the resources she'd been saving, organized a payment plan, and asked him to match her cash like he'd promised to buy that beloved car—and he was still scowling over it.

"That was one impressive accomplishment," he admitted grudgingly. "Never thought you'd work your ass off like that."

"I am my father's daughter," she retorted snappishly, fluttering her lashes. She grinned at him and leaned back, pushing her hair out of her eyes. She shrugged. "It was weird; I loved the mustang when I saw it in _Charlie's Angels_, when I used to watch it with Grandfather. And when you made with that deal with me about the car, I challenged myself to get it and I obviously can't back down from a challenge," she stopped and shrugged, pausing for a sip of coffee. "And, you know, I kind of wanted to be an Angel."

"I probably shouldn't have sold your soul to Satan for my eternal good looks, then," the Colonel deadpanned.

Jenny dipped her fingers in coffee and flicked them at him indignantly, rolling her eyes. Jasper leaned forward; his hands clasped on the table, and cleared his throat.

"It's been a hell of a year for you, Jennifer," he said.

"You about to get emotional on me?" she asked, lowering her gaze, and then popping it back up at him wryly.

He ignored her.

"I'm serious," he said. "You've worked your ass off, you've paid the insurance and the payment on that car, you've kept grades up, and you've learned lessons from mistakes," he listed, thinking of her first few months with Gibbs. He shrugged. "You've always been mature, Little J, but you damn near matured right in front of me this past year. These colleges you got into," he trailed off, shaking his head proudly. "I'm damn proud of you, Jennifer. I don't have reservations about letting you off on your own. I know I've got a good one."

She stared at her coffee, and then glared at him through her lashes.

"My eyeliner is not waterproof," she hissed hoarsely.

He smirked wickedly, and then went on.

"You didn't ask me for anything for your birthday," he noted uncertainly, tilting his head. "I figure you didn't tell Gibbs what you wanted, either, 'cause he panicked and asked me," he added wryly, snorting. "Couldn't figure what to get you—"

"I don't need anything, Daddy, I'm completely happy," she muttered honestly, but he spoke over her, pulling something out of his uniform pocket and sliding it across the table to her.

"—so I paid off your car."

She blinked, her mouth fell open, and she dropped her coffee onto the table—it tipped and spilled all over the table, and she leapt up to avoid getting it on her skirt.

"Fuck—sorry, Dad—DAMN—you _what_?" she spluttered, mopping up the coffee hastily, leaning on the table, and staring at him. Her heart was pounding, and her father laughed pleasantly as he shook liquid off of the papers he'd been trying to give her.

He unfolded them and showed her the deed to the Mustang, which he'd been keeping until she paid it off, and in the other hand, he showed her the receipt of his transaction.

"_Dad_," she began desperately, shocked.

He held up his hand.

"You deserve this," he said sternly. "Your college is taken care of, thanks to my G.I. bill and your grandparents, and I clearly succeeded in teaching you the value of money and hard work. I want you to use the money you've been earning to travel and have fun," he explained. He paused. "See Gibbs, if he ends up gettin' stationed too far to drive," he added neutrally. He folded the papers again and tapped them on the table. "You _deserve_ this," he repeated.

She stared at him, still standing trying to mop up her coffee spill, her hair falling in her face. She hadn't expected—well, whatever she had expected for her birthday, it hadn't been this; he had always been so adamant that her car was her car and the payments were hers; it was her responsibility—she bit her lip, trying to hold back tears. She licked her lips, and then moved to the side and lunged forward to hug her father, thanking him shakily.

"I love you, Dad," she said, punching him in the shoulder.

He cleared his throat gruffly; noticing the waitress was awkwardly approaching with a tray of food.

"Yeah, yeah," he growled, patting her back awkwardly. "Go eat your breakfast, G.I. Jen."

* * *

The sun had just set when dinner at Palena finished, and Jenny leaned against the passenger side of Gibbs' car, admiring the beauty of the pink-and-orange streaked dark sky. She liked how everything looked just after sunset—and she liked daylight's savings time even better. Spring was good, but it meant summer was coming, and that was better—summer meant being a high school graduate, and having endless time with Gibbs, and beaches and all kinds of things.

She bit her lip, and tilted her head up. Her boyfriend arched his brows patiently.

"You done?" he asked.

He'd been trying to open the door for her, when she implored him to let her take in the loveliness for a moment.

She made a show of sighing heavily, and leaned forward a little, cocking her head.

"Can't you admire something beautiful for a second?" she asked.

He grinned at her, and she noted the glint in his eye that meant he was about to say something idiotic or lame.

"Lookin' at you," he retorted suavely, and she pushed against him gently with her hands, raising her eyes to the heavens. He kept her to-go box balanced in one hand—it was an exquisite, unique little dessert that she hadn't had the appetite to eat at the restaurant, after such a rich and delicious meal.

He smirked at her again, and reached around her to get the door, trapping her close to the car as he did. She laughed, and he opened the truck door and let her in, shutting it snugly behind her. She took the to-go box from him as he got on, nestled it in the floorboards, and then scooted all the way over and took the customary spot close to him as he turned on the car.

"You satisfied?" Gibbs asked gruffly, as the engine roared.

She immediately turned the radio off and put on the tape player, letting his western music softly come through the stereo. She smirked a little and pretended to sigh contently, and then checked her watch, puckering her lips in mock confusion.

"It is a bit early to take me home," she noted—it was almost nine o'clock. "I suppose we should hit that bonfire you planned for me," she decided innocently.

Gibbs jerked away and glared down at her, smacking his hand on the steering wheel.

"JEN," he yelled at her, annoyed. "_Dammit_, Jen," he swore, and she bit her lip to hold back a smug smile, almost sorry she'd figured it out, now that she saw he was so bummed out that she knew. "That was a surprise," he growled darkly.

She tried to compose herself.

"I sure hope the Marines are teaching you to be sneaky in sniper school," she said sweetly.

He pinched her ribs, tickling her, and she giggled and swatted him away, turning big green eyes on him.

"You called my friends, Gibbs—you asked for phone numbers for people like Kensi and Tim," she laughed. "I thought it was just a party, maybe at your apartment—but then I saw all the lumber in your truck, and I found kerosene in your kitchen," she gave him an apologetic pout, and pressed a comforting kiss to his cheek. "If it's any consolation, I've been ecstatic all week," she murmured.

He grumbled, still glaring at her, and turned in silence to back the car out and start the drive—to Quantico, she assumed; Quantico had the best sites to set up a bonfire. She shot a sideways glance at Gibbs, and he refused to glance back. He had one arm around her, but she sensed he was going to brood at her figuring out his plan, so she bit her lip smugly again and leaned back comfortably, eschewing the seatbelt in favor of his arm.

She didn't care if she was surprised or not, she loved the idea of a bonfire with all of her friends. It would be nice to have them all together—the high school set, and the Gibbs set, as she referred to them in her head. It was going to be such a good weekend—Gibbs had his time completely cleared to spend time with her.

She smirked and turned her head into his chest, laughing again.

He grunted at her.

"Holly gave me some clothes," he said, gesturing to the floorboards. "So you don't get your dress all smoky," he clarified. He kept his eyes on the road as she sat up and reached for the bag he'd indicated. "Still gets chilly at night, so—"

"Flannel," Jenny interrupted, pulling Gibbs' flannel out of the bag. It was her favorite one that she'd stolen from him, and she beamed. Along with it, she found the property of a U.S. Marine t-shirt he'd given her, and patterned shorts she'd worn on one of their first dates—only Holly.

Jenny smiled and slipped off her heels, thankful Holly had thought to pack the worn combat boots she wore at work for the evening. She switched shoes, then unzipped her dress, pulled the t-shirt on, pulled the shorts on, and slipped the dress off—gracefully undressing without actually undressing. Gibbs did a double take and raised his eyebrows.

"My apologies for the lack of peep show," she said, fluttering her lashes primly.

He grinned at her.

"I'll take care of you later," he said vaguely, and she scooted back over to him on the seat, running her hand over his thigh and putting her lips close to his ear.

"If I gave you a blowjob _right now,_ and we got pulled over—"

He snorted and pushed her away, giving her a warning look—and he was glad there was no time for her to decide that was exactly what she'd wanted to do, because cars and flames came into sight, and he turned down a dirt road to deliver her to her birthday party. She sat up straight and leaned forward, smiling.

"The blowjob can wait," she decided, bouncing in her seat. When he parked, and she saw all the people, she squealed and turned to him, hugging him tightly and planting an affectionate kiss on his lips. "You're the best boyfriend," she mumbled against his mouth, and then scrambled out of the car, shaking her hand through her hair.

She crinkled her nose and bit her lip, flushing happily, as about twenty-five people shouted _happy birthday_ at her enthusiastically. She grinned, and Holly flew over to her and gave her a hug, pressing her face close to Jenny's—someone, probably Nina, snapped a picture.

"You're so good at looking surprised," Holly whispered.

"I told Jethro I figured it out myself," Jenny whispered back, and then Holly released her and she went about saying hello to everyone else, and thanking him or her profusely.

Jackie was the last to hug her, and Jenny nearly leapt back—she could feel Jackie's pregnancy when she hugged her, and it surprised her. She gasped and narrowed her eyes, looking up at Jackie.

"Not to steal your thunder," Leon said smugly, coming up next to his wife, "but we're having a little girl. Due September seventeenth."

Jenny laughed loudly.

"That's Jethro's birthday," she said, squeezing Jackie's hands. She looked at them wryly. "You should name her after him," she teased.

"Girl!" Jackie reminded her.

"Ah, then me!" Jenny said, pretending to preen. She wrinkled her nose. "But—have you thought of any names?"

"We like Kayla," Jackie managed to get out, before Holly was at Jenny's side, grabbing her hand.

"Come here, Mark brought someone who wants to see you," she giggled, pulling Jenny back—and there was Ike, bounding over from Mark's car and barking joyfully, a leash dragging from his collar.

"He got away from me," Mark yelled, looking annoyed.

"Aw, he doesn't need a leash," Jenny crooned, crouching down. "Heel, Ike," she ordered, and the dog skidded to a stop at her knees, wagging his tail madly and licking her square in the mouth.

She smiled and looked around, searching for Gibbs—she found him standing near his truck, where he'd lowered the back and was watching her take it all in. She beamed at him—he'd really outdone himself, making sure her beloved dog was invited to the party. She kissed Ike's head one more time, got up, and ran across the area to Gibbs, launching herself at him. He stumbled back against the tailgate, but caught her, and snorted, looking a little sheepishly proud of himself.

She touched his neck and smiled at him, pressing her nose to his before she kissed him.

She heard someone snap a picture of that, too.

* * *

She was glad she had officially been released from any commitments to curfew—a privilege of turning eighteen, the Colonel gruffly decreed—because when midnight came around, she was definitely not in the mood to leave. She was perched on the dropped tailgate of Gibbs' truck being showered with presents—which she hadn't been expecting at all—and it was overwhelming and exhilarating at the same time. She received innocuous things from the people she wasn't as close too—nail polish from Kensi Blye, a Starbucks gift card from Tim McGee, things like that.

Holly and Nina had gotten her a collection of her favorite albums on record—modern records, which she found to be really cool—as well as some personalized stuff from each of them. Jackie—and Leon, she supposed, though his name was in Jackie's handwriting on the card—outdid herself and gave Jenny a hand-knitted blanket _("for cold nights in the dorms!") _and two impossibly cute dresses. Jenny hugged the other woman within an inch of her life, and told her how much she shouldn't have, and Jackie just beamed.

Jenny was so relieved they had ended up being such close friends.

She was looking around, thinking Gibbs must be the only one left, when Fornell waltzed up in a distinctly mischievous manner and placed a box neatly next to Jenny on the tailgate. He patted it affectionately, and then gave a little mocking bow and gestured to it.

"For you, Red," he announced.

Jenny arched a brow and looked at it warily.

"Is it going to explode?"

"No!"

"Spew shaving cream all over me?"

"What kinda guy d'you think I am, Jenny?" demanded Fornell, pretending to be wounded.

She laughed at him, and pulled the box onto her lap.

"Cameras at the ready," she announced playfully, and shot a look at Gibbs—who, she noticed, was glaring daggers at Fornell. It seemed he was unaware Tobias had been planning on giving a gift.

Jenny snickered, bit her lip, and flicked off the top of the box, ruffling through—pink, glittery tissue paper. She let out a shout of laughter, recognizing the swirling writing of the brand—and Gibbs stalked forward, looking _incredibly_ annoyed. Jenny opened the gift before he could get to her, though. She plunged her hands into the, ah, packing material and gathered them in her hands.

"What-?" she started. Then—she burst out laughing, and tipped her head back. "Condoms!" she shouted, and threw them violently at Fornell. Tobias raised his hand and swatted them away, and Gibbs turned and glared at him aggressively.

"Tobias," he started.

"He's just making sure we're safe, babe," Jenny laughed, trying to defend him. "Oh, look what else he got me." She was holding up bunny ears, and then whipped a strappy, lacy looking pink and white thing out and crinkled her nose. She gave a gasp, pretending to be scandalized. "Am I supposed to wear this for you, Tobias?"

Gibbs grabbed him and put him in a headlock, scowling at him menacingly. Fornell swore, and sniggered, pleading for Jenny to intervene on his behalf. Jenny, by now not the only one laughing, chucked another handful of condoms at Gibbs and Fornell.

"Release him, Jethro," she ordered. "Let him go—c'mon, I'm laughing," she said, clutching her side.

Fornell managed to wriggle free and ran for cover, and Gibbs snatched lingerie away from Jenny, chucking it into his truck. He slid his arm around her waist and yanked her towards him.

"Your concern for my decency is so alluring," she told him, affecting a moonstruck accent.

He kissed her possessively, and she kicked her feet up, blushing when people cheered for them—she literally felt like she was in a novel or on some teen television show. She laughed, bit her lip, and drew away. He nudged her cheek with his nose and smirked, taking Fornell's box and slinging it ruthlessly into the fire.

"Jealous?" she asked quietly.

"Of him?"

Her friends—the others—were starting to mill around the fire again, seeking food. They had started roasting treats and hot dogs, because the others hadn't had a fancy meal at Palena, and after hours since dinner, even Jenny and Gibbs were hungry.

She nodded.

Gibbs snorted, rolling his eyes.

"Should I be?"

"I bet he imagined me in that little skimpy thing."

"Imagination ain't the real thing," Gibbs retorted, looking over her and then drawing her close again.

"You wanna see the real thing?" she purred.

She kissed him again, slipping her legs around him, and he ran his hand through her hair, looking around them at the people milling around.

"Got somethin' for you," he said.

"A package?" she asked, batting her lashes innocently.

He rolled his eyes at the tease and shook his head, climbing up into the truck. He crawled towards the back and yanked a large tub towards him, shaking his head.

"C'mere," he said gruffly, sitting back against the truck.

She shifted and crawled over, snuggling next to him and pulling the flannel tight around her—the warmth of the fire was calmer back here, and she shivered. He grabbed some things out of the box and shuffled them together. He glanced over them, and then handed them to her. She pursed her lips, and when she looked through them slowly, she realized they were records—_old_ records. She drew in her breath, eyes widening—Sinatra albums, and Elvis albums, and one or two Frankie Avalon albums. She took them in, and looked up at him wordlessly.

"That's your music, right?" he asked gruffly, a little wary. "You like 'im, Ol' Blue Eyes and the King."

She nodded, biting her lip.

"Yes, I," she paused. "Holly and Nina got me records, too, but I don't…maybe my dad has an old record player," she mused.

He shook his head gruffly.

"Nah, I got you one," he said. "It's at my apartment, 'cause it's too old to be out here, in the weather," he explained. He tapped the records. "These, and the player...they were my mom's," he told her seriously, rubbing his jaw. "She liked 'em, too, those guys. Her stuff's just been crammed in the attic," Gibbs muttered, an unfocused look in his eyes.

He blinked, and then smiled at her tightly.

"I know you'd take care of 'em," he said, shrugging. "Better'n my dad did."

Jenny drew up her knees and hugged them to her chest. She rested her cheek on the edge and looked over at him, just smiling. He smirked, and then reached into the tub again, rummaging around. She sighed and closed her eyes.

"Jethro," she murmured. "You're spoiling me."

"Don't have anyone else," he retorted, trading her the records for—a wooden box?

She took it, and examined it slowly—it was wooden, painted a shiny dark black, and decorated with painted designs. She found a small, dusty gold clasp and unfastened it with her thumb. She didn't open it immediately; she ran her hands over the lid again.

"Jewelry box?" she asked softly, remembering a smaller one, with fewer embellishments, that she'd found left in a room in Stillwater.

He didn't answer. She bit her lip and kept admiring it silently—she felt privileged to receive something like this from him. He'd obviously put so much work into it for her, and knowing he'd made one before for Shannon, she thought it must have been a little painful for him to work on one again.

She licked her lips and drew open the box slowly. He'd pinned a small mirror inside, and carved her initials in the upper right corner of the lid. She smiled, and lowered her hand, running her fingers over a simple, tarnished white-gold chain. She picked it up, feeling the light weight in her fingers, and let the chain slide until she came to the pendant. She cocked her head.

It was curious, a thick band that connected to the chain in her hands. The stone was a diamond—a sort of delicate woven vine surrounded her birthstone, consequently. April, diamonds. She compressed her lips and looked over at him. He reached over and touched the pendant, clearing his throat.

"Your mother's?" she asked quietly.

He snorted.

"Nah, I did spend some money on ya," he said, stroking her palm. "It's a ring," he said. "Found it in an antique store. I was helpin' Jackie cart some furniture she'd bought back to the apartment—a crib, and stuff," he explained. "Saw this...Colonel told me I couldn't get you a ring," he said dryly. He shrugged. "I cut it with some pliers, re-shaped it, fused the ends to the necklace."

Jenny clutched it in her palm, holding his fingers in her fist. She listened to people laughing and talking, to music playing from Holly's car, and she smiled at him, pulling her hand to her chest and pressing it against her heart. She clenched her teeth, deciding it was best to say nothing for the moment.

She turned and rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes a moment.

"Happy birthday, Jen," he murmured into her hair, slinging his hand over her legs.

She clamped her teeth down gently on his shirt, tugging on him playfully—it was that, or say something stupid.

* * *

Her father was—unsurprisingly—still awake when they arrived home, regardless of the fact that it was near four in the morning. He'd waited up in the study, reading _A History of the Roman Empire _and smoking, when she and Gibbs strolled in smelling like a bonfire—Jenny had stolen a little whiskey from Leon, so she was wide-awake and sparkling a little. Gibbs strolled right into the kitchen and ruffled around for something to eat.

The Colonel glared after him as Jenny collapsed in an armchair in the study—the Corporal was getting more and more at home around here, since Jasper had decided to accept him wholeheartedly. Jenny widened her eyes and pursed her lips, holding her hand in a peculiar fist—she'd adjusted the necklace in her fingers so it looked like she was wearing a ring—and waited.

"You two have fun?" he asked her, and on cue, she held up her left hand and wriggled her fingers stiffly.

"He proposed," she announced, and then took something from her pocket and tossed it onto the desk in front of her father. "Don't get mad, Daddy, I had to say yes because of the baby."

The Colonel, staring dumbly at the diamond on her finger, took a moment to look down—at the positive pregnancy test on his desk. He stood up, dropping his smoking cigar on the table, and Gibbs chose that moment to casually stroll in with a bag of chips in his hands. He immediately noticed the thunderous look on the Colonel's face and froze, his face falling immediately.

He glanced at Jenny, and she held up her hand.

"I told him about the wedding," she said sweetly, "and the baby."

"_What_?" Gibbs yelped.

The Colonel held up the test, marching menacingly around the desk, and Gibbs stared at him, nearly fumbling the bag of chips.

"Sir, that's not hers," he growled, raising his voice. "Jasper, I haven't _touched_ her!" he shouted.

"He hasn't, Daddy, it's not his."

Gibbs whacked her in the shoulder with his bag of chips.

"It better be mine!" he growled.

"You said you hadn't touched her, boy," the Colonel growled, advancing.

"I didn't!" Gibbs insisted loudly, and quickly.

"YOU DON'T GET PREGNANT FROM LOOKIN' AT EACH OTHER LIKE FOOLS," the Colonel barked.

Jenny giggled and stood up, prancing over and snatching the test from her dad. She held her hands up as if surrendering, and wiggled the test back and forth.

"Chill, dude, it's not mine," she snickered, slipping it back into her pocket.

The Colonel's face changed colours twelve times before he backed off Gibbs and turned his annoyance on his daughter.

"Where the hell did you get that, Jennifer?" he demanded.

She shrugged, already sitting back down and taking a moment to tweet the picture of her kissing Gibbs at the bonfire.

"It's Jackie's. I have to give it back, for her scrapbook."

"You borrowed another woman's pregnancy test?" demanded the Colonel. "Just to give me a heart attack?"

Jenny, in the process of fastening her necklace on, nodded, and ignored the outraged look her boyfriend was giving her. She patted her chest gently, showing that it wasn't a ring, and leaned back, smirking at the both of them as if to innocently ask what the problem was.

"Jackie peed on that," Gibbs growled.

Jenny shrugged again.

Both men gave her offended looks, and she pushed her hair back, smiling. She yawned, and tilted her head at Gibbs.

"Can Jethro sleep over?" she asked.

Gibbs nearly choked on his own tongue—he hadn't expected her to ask that.

"We're going fishing at like, six a.m. and I don't want to have to drive to Quantico," Jenny explained.

The Colonel eyed her, and then Gibbs, warily. He glanced at the clock and grunted, tightening his jaw and rolling his eyes.

"Fine," he growled, turning a sharp look on Gibbs. "You sleep down here, son, I don't give a damn where you slept while I was in custody," he added, simultaneously revealing he knew exactly what they thought they'd kept a secret and putting his foot down. "And you can keep your shirt on."

Gibbs looked sheepish, but Jenny nodded blithely and stood up, pressing a quick kiss to Gibbs' cheek and hugging her father before she started off to bed.

"Hey," she said, turning in the doorway. She bit her lip, and smiled sincerely. "Thanks," she said. She rose on tiptoes, and then flattened her feet, swaying a little. "This has been my favorite birthday," she added, turning on her heel and disappearing to her bedroom.

The Colonel and Gibbs stared at each other.

"I told you not to get her a ring."

"It's a necklace," Gibbs said.

"Looked like a ring some dumbass fixed into a necklace," Jasper said sharply.

Gibbs didn't flinch.

"You cheated," accused the Colonel.

"It's a necklace," Gibbs repeated, deadpan. Then, he shrugged. "I don't want to marry her," he said grimly, narrowing his eyes and scowling. "She's trouble. You keep her and the goats."

The Colonel slapped Gibbs in the back of the head, glaring at him menacingly.

"You will take her and any goats that come with her if that's what she wants."

* * *

It was chilly on Saturday morning, but the sun was shining and there wasn't a cloud in the sky, so Jenny chose to bear the cool air until it warmed up. She was wearing an orange bikini top and denim shorts—the same orange top she'd worn the day she met Gibbs—and lounging lazily in the fishing canoe watching Gibbs set up his equipment.

He'd mentioned he hadn't been in a while, and she'd persuaded him to take her along this morning. She thought it was a nice sort of date, watching him do something that he loved and enjoying the peace and silence. She closed her eyes and shivered, running her hand through her hair. She was sleepy, and her skin and hair still smelled like smoke. She smiled to herself, listening to birds, and the Potomac lapping against the canoe.

"Do you fish for sport, or food?" she asked, keeping her voice quiet and calm.

"I can cook what I catch today, if you want supper tonight," he answered.

She licked her lips.

"I like that idea," she murmured.

He sat back, looking at the fishing rod he'd set up, and she leaned up, supporting herself on her elbows, watching him run his hands over the rod to make sure it was secure, and then take a beer from the cooler at his ankle. He silently offered her one, and she sat up, straddling the bench in the canoe and leaning forward to take his. She always felt like sharing his was less of a rule-breaking act, and she liked the taste of his lips on the bottle.

"Why do you like fishing?" she asked, pressing her lips to the bottle in a kiss before handing it back.

He shrugged, taking a swig. His eyes fell on the necklace at her throat while he mulled it over.

"Dad used to take me," he answered finally. "Get up real early on weekends, come home, open the store," he remembered. "I'd go out by myself, after Mom killed herself," he added gruffly. "Dad moved on, I didn't. Like the quiet. No one to bother me."

"You brought me with you?" Jenny asked, suddenly afraid she was infringing on his _thing_.

"You don't bother me," he said pointedly. He took a long drink of beer, and rubbed his jaw. "I went fishin' the mornin' of Shannon's funeral," he said. "Slept in a boat on the lake for two days," he told her gruffly. "Rowed in, joined up, left Stillwater."

Jenny licked her lips and swallowed.

"Why the Marines?"

He shrugged, and quoted Shannon.

"Needed a code to live by."

Jenny leaned forward, placing her hands on the wood under her. She remembered that: he'd told her that when he stayed the night her father was arrested. Her hair fell over her shoulder thickly, and she chewed on her bottom lip. His fishing rod shook a little, and he watched it sharply for a moment before it was still.

"Jethro," she said clearly, tilting her head. The words she'd bitten his shirt to keep from saying came tumbling out of their own accord, and she didn't know why she said them now, except maybe those things just needed to be said, regardless of logic or practicality. "I love you."

He looked at her—almost uncertainly, definitely with apprehension, but she knew it wasn't because she'd scared him off, but for some other reason; something to do with some worry he had about not being what she needed, or not handling this right. She flushed, and swallowed, dipping her head. She crinkled her nose and winced, looking at him through her lashes.

"I'm sorry," she burst out, laughing nervously. Her eyes glittered.

"Sign of weakness," he said hoarsely.

"Love?"

"Apologies."

He reached for her, and his beer bottle was cold against her back as he pulled her closer, his lips brushing hers.

"You're sorry that you love me?" he teased quietly.

"It's not a big deal," she said huskily, blushing.

His eyes met hers, and his fingers pressed into her skin gingerly, as if she might slip away.

She didn't know—if she regretted saying it or not, but she wasn't worried at the moment about what he said next, and she knew it was true—she did…love him. If that were at all possible, for a newly eighteen-year-old girl who knew nothing about the real world.

He leaned closer to kiss her.

"You've got a bite," she whispered.

The fishing pole was shaking now, dancing around insistently.

He shook his head, ignored it, and kissed her.

* * *

_SCREAMS_

_feeback pls_

_-alexandra_


	19. The Bell Jar

_A/N: The opening scene of this is quite possibly my favorite thing I've ever written [not really, but. i made myself laugh, so that's what matters]. One of the scenes in this chapter is one of my top three favorites out of the whole fic...and you'll definitely know which one it is. [s/o to McKenzie]._

_Chapter Seventeen_

_The Bell Jar _

* * *

Jenny was perched in what she considered to be a regal position upon Gibbs' back. She had her ankles hooked loosely together at his navel, and was lazily doing her best to make sure he didn't do _all_ the work in giving her the piggy back ride she'd won in an early morning bet—just ninety percent of it. Her ability to use her thighs to hold herself up was lacking at the moment, as she was concentrating on both eating an ice cream cone and looking for the Sumatran tiger that was _supposed_ to be in the makeshift zoo jungle.

"The lions were scampering around," Jenny remarked, eyeing the tiger enclosure sharply. "He's not doing a very good job of living up to the challenge of his rivals."

Gibbs groaned.

"I mean, you'd think he'd hear all the roaring, and feel…maybe…the thrill of the fight?"

"Jen."

"He's the only tiger in the pen; you'd think he'd want to show off, since he's the last known survivor."

She practically _felt_ Gibbs roll his eyes. She bit back a giggle, and sighed dramatically, solemnly going on.

"I suppose it's getting darker, he's probably off stalking his prey in the night," she began, pausing to lick her ice cream cone. She shrugged. "He's hiding in there, watching us all with-!" she paused dramatically.

Gibbs refused to play along, and she kicked him like she'd kick a horse. He still was silent, and she pinched his neck.

"Jethro, what is he watching us with?" she sang, crushing her nose cutely against his cheek.

Gibbs sighed in a protracted, annoyed, tortured manner.

"The eye of the tiger," he mumbled finally.

Jenny giggled, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. She'd been making animal related music puns throughout the entirety of the National Zoo, and Gibbs had stopped thinking it was in any way amusing right around the lion enclosure and her modern rendition of _The Circle of Life. _She noticed a slight movement in some of the greenery, and lowered herself closer to Gibbs, gesturing vaguely.

"I think I see 'im, over there," she murmured.

She accidentally hit him in the ear with her ice cream cone and he narrowed his eyes, turning his head and glaring at her. She was pretty sure she actually heard him growl menacingly, so she growled back, baring her teeth. Then she pressed her mouth to his ear and licked off the ice cream, smirking and kissing his jaw.

"There are children here," he groused.

"Prude," she accused.

"I'll drop you on your ass," he threatened.

She made a gasping noise, outrage, and tightened her legs.

"You got yourself into this mess, Jarhead," she told him snootily, turning up her nose. He hadn't believed that she could guess what kind of coffee he ordered at the Starbucks across the street from scent alone, and she'd insisted if she got it right he had to play her personal pony for the rest of the day.

She'd gotten it right. She could smell Jamaican blend anywhere, because it was her dad's staple—not to mention she knew if Gibbs was going to be persuaded to shell out any amount of money for Starbucks, the only thing he'd consider worth it would be Jamaican blend.

"Don't drop me; that would be very ungentlemanly," she accused. She raised her brows, and smacked her lips. "If I'm too heavy, though, I'll hop down."

He grunted, immediately provoked into proving she wasn't too much for him to handle. He set his jaw and rolled his eyes at her, scoffing.

"You don't weigh half as much as my boot camp backpack," he bragged.

"Oh, please, you idiot," she retorted, rolling her eyes and chowing down on her ice cream again.

"Where do you wanna go next?" Gibbs asked gruffly.

"Elephants," she answered primly. "They're the last stop, since we skipped them on the way in."

She accidentally hit him in the face with ice cream again, and kissed it away. He made a face and dodged away from her, glaring at her out of his peripheral vision as he easily carted her along the paved zoo pathways.

"You keep doin' that, Jen, and that ice cream ends up on the floor."

"I'm not doing it on purpose; it's attracted to your face," she retorted innocently, biting into the ice cream cone and keeping herself balanced on his back.

She had originally wanted Dippin' Dots, but she'd decided the mechanics of trying to use two hands to eat them while holding onto Gibbs would end up choking him to death, and she decided dessert wasn't as important as a living Gibbs. She used her tongue to smooth out the treat and looked around alertly as they approached the Elephant enclosure. The weather was so impossibly perfect these days, and the zoo was overflowing with excited children and couples. She was enjoying her last weekend of absolute freedom before she had to buckle down and hard-core study for the upcoming AP examinations.

"Aw," Jenny squealed, as Gibbs stopped on a bridge like area overlooking the spacious elephant compound. "They are so precious!"

"They're elephants," grunted Gibbs.

"Precious elephants!"

"Somethin' that big and intimidating can't be _precious_," he snorted derisively.

"Intimidating?" she quoted, crinkling her nose and peering at him comically. "You afraid of elephants, Jethro?" she asked wryly.

"Not what I said."

"You said _intimidating_."

"Yeah, they're damn big," he growled in response, backtracking quickly. "'M not _afraid_ of elephants."

Jenny smirked, and scanned the area. She reached out with her hand indicating carefully with her ice cream cone at one of the largest mammals.

"I've just decided to name that one Jasper. Are you afraid now?"

"'M not afraid of your old man."

"Anymore," she muttered under her breath, and he pinched her thigh.

She shrieked and pinched him back, wrinkling her nose. She tilted her head and went for her ice cream again, trying to think of a song that was relevant to elephants. She couldn't really—_Eye of the Tiger_ had been her crowning glory. She contented herself with humming one of the songs from _Tarzan,_ and she was distracted, absorbed in watching one elephant smack another one playfully with its trunk when Gibbs suddenly smacked her leg gently.

"Jen," he grunted, loosening his grip. "Get off me a minute," he requested, and she unlocked her ankles, lowering her feet to solid ground and standing up. She pushed her hair back, her lips pursed in confusion, and watched as he looked around him a moment and then walked over to the railing of the bridge.

"Jethro," she called, confused.

He ignored her, and crouched down—that's when she noticed there was a kid standing there, a little boy about five years old, staring with wide-eyes at the people milling around and looking completely and utterly lost.

Jenny swallowed, and followed Gibbs, catching up to him just in time to hear him say:

"You lose someone, buddy?"

She stared at Gibbs, startled that he'd noticed the kid, and unsure what had made him go over and talk to him. Grown men talking to random kids usually wasn't seen as a normal thing—but then again, Gibbs was wearing his ACUs, so he would clearly be identified as a safe person to go to for help, if one was a scared little kid.

The kid was staring at Gibbs with the same wide-eyed look, and then he nodded. One of the elephants made a loud noise, and he covered his ears, wincing in annoyance. Gibbs smiled at him and nodded.

"Elephants don't have inside voices," he said, and the little kid lowered his hands a little. "Where's your mom?" Gibbs asked.

"She ran away," the little boy said, finally speaking. He had a shaky voice, and he lifted his hands helplessly. "Sissy ran after a _squirrel_," he explained to Gibbs. "Mommy _lost_ me."

Gibbs looked around, and Jenny did too, searching for a scared looking mother to connect the kid with. She wondered if this kid had run off in the other direction, or if the mother had told him to stay put and he'd gotten scared anyway. She looked back down at Gibbs, and he frowned a moment before looking back at the kid.

"What's your name?" he asked.

The boy didn't answer, and glared at him.

"My name's Gibbs," Gibbs said nicely, pointing to his Velcro nametag. He pulled out his dog tags and showed them to the kid. "You want help findin' your mom?" he asked.

"Are you a G.I. Joe?" the kid asked.

Gibbs smirked.

"Marine," he said, shaking the dog tags.

Jenny crouched down too, tilting her head. The kid looked at her, and then stepped closer to Gibbs, apparently deciding since she wasn't in uniform, she wasn't safe. Gibbs put his arm out and rested it on the kid's shoulders, arching his brows.

"Zach," the kid said, pointing to himself. "Who is _she_?"

"She's nice," Gibbs said flippantly, and Jenny would have kicked him for being so boring in his description. She held out her ice cream cone to the kid and smiled kindly.

"Want some?"

Zach looked at her warily.

"No," he retorted. "You licked it already. _You_ have cooties."

Jenny glared at him, and Gibbs gave her a withering look, standing up.

"Your mom tell you to stay here, Zach?" he asked, looking around. Jenny followed suit, still glaring at the little kid for rejecting her offer. She folded one arm across her stomach, and stepped back, watching as Gibbs coaxed the boy to walk with him a little so they could look.

He made Zach laugh almost instantly, and the kid smiled. Jenny tilted her head, furrowing her brow, and before she could dwell on it, she saw a woman with a young girl on her hip looking around frantically. She cleared her throat, got Gibbs' attention, and jerked her chin at the woman—right as she noticed her son.

_"Zach!"_ the woman hissed dashing over. "I told you to _stay on that bench_," she said, gesturing over to the right. "Don't you run away from me, didn't you see how scared Hayley made me?" she asked, pointing at the little girl.

She looked up at Gibbs and sighed, her eyes wide with relief.

"_Thank_ you," she said. "He thinks he's older than he is—I hope he didn't bother you; he's so obsessed with the Army," she said.

Jenny noticed Gibbs didn't correct her on the military branch; he just smirked and handed her kid over.

"Nah, think I bothered him," he said. "Figured he looked a little lost."

The woman nodded, snatching Zach close to her side. She thanked Gibbs again, and hurried her children off. Jenny tilted her head back and arched both eyebrows, leaning against the bridge. She watched Gibbs make eye contact with the toddler girl, wave at her, and make her smile before the family disappeared. Gibbs joined her, looking down into the elephant enclosure.

"What made you go over to him?" she asked.

Gibbs shrugged.

"He's a lost kid, Jen," he said. "Didn't want some creep to grab 'im up."

Jenny smiled, tilting her head. She blew hair out of her face.

"You're good with kids," she remarked. "Like, really good."

"I like kids," he retorted bluntly, and then snorted at her. "You're not," he pointed out frankly.

She punched him in the shoulder.

Gibbs laughed smugly.

"Why the hell did you offer him ice cream?" he demanded, giving her an incredulous look. "Parents tell their kids all the damn time that strangers offerin' 'em sweets is dangerous."

Jenny spluttered, annoyed with him for pointing that out, and then set her shoulders back and scoffed at him.

"I'll have you know—I was the Vickery's favorite babysitter—and what kid doesn't like ice cream?" she fumbled indignantly.

Gibbs grinned at her and shrugged. She moved closer, glaring at him pointedly, and licked her ice cream cone. It was dripping at a faster rate now, and she didn't want it to melt.

"You want to be baby Vance's godfather, then?" she asked.

Gibbs shrugged.

"Up to Jackie and Leon," he said neutrally. He wouldn't say no, though, if they asked—he did like kids, and he figured it'd be nice to practice on one before he had his own.

"They making any leeway on names?" Jenny asked.

"Still fighting over Kayla," Gibbs grunted. "Vance agreed to it, then Jackie went insane and decided she liked weird names like _Sage_ and _Persephone_."

Jenny pinched Gibbs.

"Don't call her insane; she's pregnant," she hissed. "Names are difficult, okay? It's _kind_ of permanent—hey, what would you name your kid, if you had one?" she asked.

"Depends, who's the mother?"

Jenny gave him a dubious look.

"Why does _that_ matter?"

"'Cause if it's you, I don't think I'd get a say in the matter," he retorted wryly, provoking another warning glare from her.

She wasn't _that_ much of an imposing girlfriend—! She sniffed at him, turning to focus on the elephants and deciding that she didn't care what he'd name his kid—except then he actually answered…sort of.

"Shannon wanted to name her kid _Kelly_."

Jenny blinked, and looked over.

"So you'd name your kid Kelly, to honor Shannon?"

Gibbs shrugged. He didn't know if he would or not, so he didn't answer. He gave her a look, and cocked his brow.

"What would you name yours?" he demanded, expecting reciprocation.

She didn't know if she wanted kids, and she hadn't really thought about it. Her grandmother's name had been Abigail Katherine, though, and her grandmother had been the most important person in her life for such a long time. She studied her ice cream cone seriously, and then licked her lips.

"Tobias," she answered, deadpan.

Gibbs glared at her, and smacked the ice cream cone out of her hand.

She shrieked as it tumbled from her hands down into the elephant pit, and then she gasped, her eyes wide. Gibbs looked sheepish immediately—he hadn't meant to pollute the zoo with his antics—and she looked around them furtively, grabbing him and shooing him off. She shoved him menacingly away from the elephant enclosure. He was like a hunk of rock, so it was hard to shove him, but she put all her muscle into it, and he resisted, finally turning around and managing to snatch her up. She kicked his shins, he placed her back on the ground, and she turned up her nose at him, tossing her hair back primly.

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly and caught her hand, dragging her towards him and slipping his arm around her shoulders as they moved away from the scene of the ice cream crime and towards another part of the zoo—working their way out.

Gibbs rubbed his jaw, and glanced down at her.

"Jen," he said neutrally.

"Hmm?" she asked, leaning against him lazily.

"Fornell's shippin' out to Iraq at the end of May," he told her calmly.

She was silent, and then she stopped and looked up at him, taken aback. Her brow furrowed, and she bit her lip.

"_Iraq_ Iraq?" she clarified.

He nodded.

"He's gone the week after your prom," Gibbs said gruffly. "He can still take Nina."

"Iraq?" Jenny repeated.

Gibbs shrugged.

"Troop surge," he said.

Jenny swallowed, processing it. She reached out and ran her hands over his nametag, looping her fingers into his dog tags.

"You?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head, his face changing.

"Jesus, Jen, you think I'd tell you somethin' like that in public?" he demanded, setting his jaw. He rubbed her arms soothingly. "Nah, I gotta finish training first," he reminded her coolly. He shrugged. "Best guess…I think I got a hazard deployment comin' up, maybe October," he warned.

She chewed on her lip, staring at his dog tags.

"I'll be at college then," she murmured, and tilted her head. She glanced up at him through her lashes. "You finish training _next_ weekend, Jethro," she pointed out in a small voice.

He nodded, but shrugged. He hadn't heard anything about new orders, and while that didn't necessarily mean anything, it was technically a good sign.

She clutched his dog tags and frowned.

"Can't you request a deployment in Okinawa?" she asked, frustrated. "Somewhere safe?"

He smirked.

"Don't need snipers where it's safe," he said. He grit his teeth. "'M not a Colonel," he added gruffly. "I don't make requests."

"I know," she muttered to herself. She frowned, thinking. She knew a deployment was inevitable, but she didn't like thinking about it. She knew she could handle it—at least, she was fairly sure she could, since she was accustomed to her dad leaving—but the Colonel's most dangerous deployments had been when she was too young to grasp it, and her relationship with Gibbs was different than the one with her father.

He ran his hand through her hair, cupping her cheek.

"Jen?' he asked gruffly, eyeing her apprehensively. "You okay?"

She tilted her head back and met his eyes. She smiled, and nodded, touching his dog tags to her lips.

"We should do something for Tobias, before he ships out," she suggested, her eyes bright. "He doesn't really have any family."

Gibbs nodded, twisting his fingers in her hair—he was glad he wasn't in Fornell's boat, because he had a whole summer coming up with Jen before she went to college, and he didn't want to miss that. If he was deployed while she was sequestered in Indiana or somethin', so be it, but it would kill him if he had to go when she'd just turned eighteen and gotten out of high school for good.

* * *

With Ike's head in her lap, Jenny sat across from her father in his study. He was holding his customary cigar in hand, and there were two crystal tumblers out on the desk, with a bottle of aged scotch whiskey in the middle. A neatly creased piece of paper lay under Jenny's empty tumbler, and she held a sleek, black fountain pen in her hand. She ran her hand back and forth over Ike's velvety ears several times, her shoulders back properly, and her jaw set in anticipation.

"You've considered all your options?" Jasper asked.

She nodded slowly.

"I told you I would support any choice you made, and I stand by that," the Colonel said gruffly. He looked at her intently. "You're going to be happy with this?"

She licked her lip, and bit back a smile.

She nodded.

"I spent a lot of time on the research, I talked to alumni, I explored undergraduate options," she explained calmly. She tapped the piece of paper with the fancy fountain pen. "This is where I want to be."

"It's a damn good school, Jennifer," praised the Colonel sternly, inclining his head. "I'll be proud to see you there."

She licked her lips and leaned forward, colouring in the box that indicated she was accepting her place, and signing her name elegantly and clearly on the bottom line. Deftly, she slipped the paper from underneath the tumbler, folded it, and slipped it into the return envelope, sealing it with a flick of her tongue and a smile. She handed it to her father, and he held it up, looking at it critically. He nodded once to himself, placed it in front of him, and then uncorked the bottle of scotch and poured them each a shot. She took hers, and he pulled his cigar away from his mouth to toast hers.

He swallowed hard, watching as she laughed, taking the shot and collapsing back in relief. The long deliberation was over; he saw stress visibly leave her—she'd chosen a university, and there was relief for both of them in knowing where she'd safely be come September.

The Colonel tapped the envelope.

"I'll fax this to them in the morning," he said curtly, "to ensure it's received by the first. I'll take care of your housing and tuition deposit," he informed her. "Is there anything else you need me to do?"

She sat forward, running her hand through her hair, and raised her shoulders, shaking her head.

"No, Daddy," she said, pursing her lips almost in disbelief. "You're—done."

He lowered his glass of scotch, looked at his daughter, and took a drag on his cigar; he smirked, because he wasn't sure it occurred to him until she said it: he was _done._ She was eighteen, and damn near off to college—she was out of his hands. He cleared his throat and nodded—to himself, to her—and sat forward. He nodded his head down the hall as the door opened.

"Gibbs is here," he remarked, and Jenny got up.

Ike dashed down the hall to greet him, and she abandoned her scotch and her acceptance letters on her father's desk. She started down the hall, when the Colonel stopped her.

"You told 'im yet?"

She pushed her hair back and met her father's eyes.

"No," she said warmly, biting her lip for a moment. "I took a leaf out of Holly's book and decided not to discuss it with him until I had decided, so I wouldn't be swayed," she explained.

Gibbs strolled towards them, hands in his pockets. He gave her a greeting kiss on the mouth, and then glanced between her and the Colonel, noted the things on the table, and grunted.

"Discuss what with me?" he asked.

"Our girl's goin' to college," the Colonel said roughly, leaning back. He eyed Gibbs critically; intent on seeing how he reacted to Jenny's choice.

She compressed her lips, licked them, and leaned against the doorframe, propping one foot behind her, and looking up at Gibbs. She pushed her shoulders back and smiled.

"Penn," she told him. "I'm going to the University of Pennsylvania."

He blinked, and then he grinned at her, and slipped his arm around her waist to pull her in for a hug. She looked content with the decision, and she'd been so stressed lately over what the right decision was that he was glad to see that stress gone from her eyes. Even though there was no Marine base close to where she was going, it somehow meant something that she was going close to his home.

The Colonel grunted, taking another drag on his cigar, satisfied with how Gibbs had reacted—he hadn't even looked uncertain; he'd just congratulated her.

Jenny bit her lip and hugged herself, allowing Gibbs to give her another affectionate kiss on the temple. The Colonel cleared his throat and sat forward, lifting the scotch bottle and gesturing to Gibbs.

"Sit your ass down, son, give her a toast," he ordered, taking another tumbler from the drawer at his side. He snorted, and tossed his cigar into a glass dish next to his arm, whistling to Ike so the dog would stop harassing Gibbs and take a seat near the fire.

He poured scotch into three glasses this time and nodded approvingly as he distributed them. He picked his up and gestured to Jenny.

"Her first," he grunted, and then inclined his head at Gibbs. "Then you," he added grudgingly.

"Why me?" Gibbs asked, almost wary.

Jenny perched on his knee with her glass in hand, and the Colonel gave her a withering look before he snorted and gave Gibbs a reluctantly impressed look.

"'Cause some fuckin' devil dog told me you're graduatin' sniper school top of your class come May."

Jenny turned to him, her eyes brightening, and grinned, and he set his jaw, raising his glass to the Colonel, determined to hide the smug smirk that was just itching to crawl across his face.

* * *

"Shit," Nina swore, reaching up and rubbing her face in frustration.

She slammed her essay down onto her desk and groaned, turning to Jenny.

"You get a nine?" she asked.

"Yeah," Jenny answered vaguely, tucking her graded practice essay away.

"Goddamnit," Nina went on. She slapped her paper. "This is the third five I've gotten on a poetry essay in a week," she complained. "It's like, I interpret the poem fine, but I can't write about it? I'm never going to pass this exam."

"Nina, c'mon, you'll pass," Jenny said, giving her an absurd look.

"By pass I mean get a _five_," Nina snapped.

Jenny rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

"You'll at least get a four," she said, reaching over and squeezing Nina's shoulder. "You're a killer writer, and the AP graders are so lenient on writing," she reminded her.

Nina chewed on her lip, and then nodded, standing up. She sighed and pushed her hair back, gathering her things as the bell rang.

"Are you going straight to work?" she asked Jenny earnestly, as they headed out of the classroom and down the hall—Jenny towards the exit for the parking lot, Nina towards the Macroeconomics classroom.

Jenny shook her head.

"I don't work today," she said. "I have a debate meeting; I have to train my replacement for captain," she explained. "Tomorrow I have to train a new girl at work—why, you want to work on poetry writing?" she asked.

"God, please," Nina said, exasperated. "I'll have a complete meltdown if I don't get at _least_ a seven on the final practice essay, and that's Friday."

"Come over after I get off work," Jenny said earnestly. "We can practice all night—I need you to look over my practice Chemistry essays, anyway."

"I cannot believe these exams are here already," Nina said, looking thoroughly harassed. "English is literally in exactly a week—and when's History for you?"

"Uh, the same fuckin' day as English," Jenny growled, narrowing her eyes. She hated how that had worked out. "Chem is last—and I can't figure out if I like that, or wish it was over with," she groused. "Sciuto's not requiring us to come to class after it, though, so I can sleep in," she remembered, brightening.

She and Nina stopped outside of the Macroeconomics classroom, and Nina leaned against a wall while Jenny took up against a locker. She checked her watch; they had a good seven minutes to chat before the bell rang.

"Well, Palmer is," Nina said, rolling her eyes. "He says he's going to spend the rest of the time doing cool experiments we didn't have time for—I just hope he sets his eyebrows on fire, someone's got to do something about them—hey, have you ever seen Palmer's wife? She's like, hot."

"Yeah," snorted Jenny. "Her name's Breena, she was a student here like three years ago, when we were freshmen."

"Oooh, kill 'em," Nina snorted, arching her brow. "You want to study this weekend, for Chem?" she asked.

Jenny tilted her head back and forth.

"My history exam is first, so I'm going to spend the weekend on that, and I study best when I'm at Gibbs'—don't ask me why," she laughed. "But since English and History are on the same day, and then I've got a break Thursday, I think I'm staying home Thursday to buck up on Chem. You in?"

"Yes," Nina said, relieved. "It's miraculous—the only thing my parents will let me _skip_ school for is to ensure perfection _in_ school," she laughed.

"Okay, well, come over Thursday, then. We'll crack down on compounds and Quantum Theory," Jenny promised. She tilted her head. "I'll see if Holly wants to come. The study atmosphere would help her focus on her Calc studying."

"The more the merrier," Nina said grudgingly. "Tim wants to study, too."

"Invite him," Jenny agreed automatically, and Nina arched a brow, before changing the subject.

"Hey, did you have to declare a major when you committed to Penn?" she asked.

Jenny shook her head, licking her lips.

"I tentatively declared, though," she admitted, hesitating. "I think I know what I'm going to study."

"Did you go with Political Science?" Nina asked.

Jenny inclined her head, and didn't really answer. She pursed her lips and furrowed her brow.

"Where did you end up committing, Neens?" she asked—she realized Nina had gotten away with not telling them.

Nina smiled wryly.

"Stanford," she said. "I can't decide between a biomedical engineering degree or one in anthropology," she laughed dryly.

"Stanford?" Jenny asked, frowning. "I thought you wanted to go to MIT—did your parents bully you into it?"

"Actually," Nina said, cocking a brow. "_Misha_ did. I didn't want to go to Stanford just because they told me to and just because Misha does, but he pointed out that it would please Mama and Papa, but also be so far away that I can live a life that's solely on my terms, and they can't pressure me to come home often because it isn't feasible," she explained. She shrugged. "I like that idea. I respect my parents and I don't want to flout them, so it would be nice to be somewhere that makes them happy and gives me more freedom."

Jenny beamed at her—Nina sounded pleased, and Stanford was such an amazing accomplishment. She pointed at the brunette, and smiled smugly.

"I'm coming to you for spring break, babe," she said.

"I'll hold you to that," Nina said, laughing.

The warning bell rang, and Jenny pushed off the locker and adjusted her schoolbag, pushing her hair out of her face. She waved her fingers quickly at Nina as people started to hurry around, and Nina shouted a quick goodbye.

"Hey," Nina said, cupping her hands over her mouth to catch Jenny's attention.

Jenny looked back at her, waiting, eyebrows raised.

Nina smirked.

"You study better at Gibbs' because you relate academic success to your father giving you boy privileges," she pointed out.

Jenny laughed outright.

"Yeah," she retorted. "I don't really love him, I just want to pass the APs!"

Nina smirked wryly, and pranced into her classroom, and Jenny arched her eyebrow, parting her lips suddenly as she looked around the emptying hall—Nina didn't seem to have caught it, but there it was again—the L word.

* * *

Jenny ran her hands through her hair and groaned in frustration, clutching her fingers tightly and yanking on her red locks. This was the third time in a row she'd fallen short of the number of correct answers she wanted—

"Jen," Gibbs said, sitting down behind her on the couch and massaging one of her shoulders gently. "Relax," he ordered gruffly.

He reached around her—she was sitting on the floor against the couch—and handed her a mug of tea. She took it aggressively and curled her palms around it, tilting her head back and looking up at him with a pout. He pulled his hand through her hair, lightly pulling out the knots, and raised his eyebrows.

"I can't get these equations right," she complained. "I swear, I'm so confident and then—fuck," she swore. "I end up with a four."

"What do you need to pass again?"

"Three," she answered testily.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her, because she got pissed when he didn't take her passion for academics seriously. Instead, he kept his features neutral and kept massaging her shoulder with his free hand. She leaned into the touch, a permanent scowl etched on her lips for the moment.

"Four's good," he remarked.

"It _is_," she agreed. "It's outstanding, for the AP Chem exam," she groused. "I know I can get a five though, I _know_ I can, and I'm _busting_ my ass and I just—I want one," she growled, her eyes stinging. "Getting a four is like getting a B minus, I'd rather get a three—"

"Get real, Jenny."

"—_fine_, I wouldn't," she snapped sourly. Her voice shook. "I was so _confident_ for this stupid exam before I started practicing," she snapped. "I feel like a fucking idiot."

He bent over and kissed the top of her head, shushing her quietly.

"C'mon, Jen, you're smarter'n anybody I know," he murmured, squeezing her shoulder tightly. "Jesus, give yourself a break—could be you're just tired," he pointed out. "You had your nose in that history book for three hours before you took a break for Chem."

"_You're_ the one who told me switching subjects rejuvenated the brain!" she accused, glaring at him dully.

"Works for me," he said, shrugging. "Maybe you're different. Maybe it just scrambles yours," he said, tugging on her hair and messing it up. "Close the damn book for half a minute, Jen, just sit here, take a deep breath."

He didn't mind her studying at his apartment; she actually did it frequently and it was a very laid back event. This weekend—well, since Wednesday, actually, she'd been studying more and more intensely for the upcoming AP exams, and it was making her crazy. She'd gotten so annoyed once that she'd yelled at him for being too loud in the kitchen, and since then, Banquo had been hiding under the couch glaring at her suspiciously. As she sat there calming down, though, he crept out, and Gibbs grinned.

"Look," he said, nudging Jenny's arm. "Your baby's not scared of you anymore."

She snorted faintly and held her hand out. The cat trotted over and meowed, starting to prance around her and rub his nose against her hand. She stroked him and sighed, leaning heavily back against the couch.

"I _don't_ want to have to take Chem in college," she said distastefully. "I didn't take AP maths because I needed a good GPA to get _in_ to college, but I knew I could hack a science, so I chose Chem—and I'm studying social sciences, so I need to minimize stupid science gen. eds.—I mean unless they ask me about the fucking unification of Italy, I'll get a five on the AP history exam—I don't even know why I'm studying it," she growled.

"'Cause you're a masochist," Gibbs pointed out, watching her pull the cat close and snuggle with him.

Gibbs shifted and sat down on the floor next to her, sliding his arm around her back and tugging her close to him. He leaned over and gave her a kiss; then he buried his face in her hair for a moment, breathing her in. He'd ended up really loving that perfume he bought her back in November.

She sighed, and slipped her hand onto his leg, pressing her fingers into the inseam of his jeans. She puckered her lips in a pout.

"I wonder what it's like to not give a fuck about school," she mused.

"Pretty damn great," Gibbs joked, and she smacked him in the ribs, trying to fight down a smirk.

"You had to give a little bit of a fuck," she chided. She cocked a brow. "Someone taught you how to read Shakespeare."

"Hmpfh," he snorted, puffing out his chest to look manly and awesome. "Taught myself," he bragged.

"Mmm," she murmured, licking her lips. "'_Stars, hide your fires, let not light see my black and deep desires' _–what's it from?"

He grinned at her wickedly.

_"Macbeth."_

She sniffed at him.

"Lucky guess," she hissed—she'd given him an easy one; of course he knew _Macbeth_ back-to-front, he'd apparently read it several times while he had her copy hostage from her.

He leaned over and kissed her, and then cleared his throat.

"You decided what you're studyin'?" he asked, noting she'd said she wanted to get out of her sciences. "Last I heard, you were undecided."

"I didn't _declare_ anything on my commitment form," she murmured, shifting so she was more comfortable and slouching against the couch. Banquo curled up in her lap, purring contently, and she stroked his ears affectionately, licking her lips. "But I found the programs I want to orient my classes towards, for when I do declare."

"Belly dancing," Gibbs guessed, deadpan.

"Ha ha, try again."

"Homemaking?"

She pretended to start to get up, glowering in mock anger.

"I'm leaving, you varmint."

He circled his arms about her waist and pulled her onto his lap, laughing. He shook his head and held her tight, rolling his eyes to show he was kidding.

"What're you studying?" he asked, arching his brows seriously.

She chewed her lip a moment.

"Linguistics," she answered finally, "and political science. I want to focus on learning a critical language, as well—Farsi, or Arabic."

Gibbs shrugged.

"Why not German?"

"I'm already basically fluent," Jenny retorted. "It would be lazy."

"What do you want to do after school?" Gibbs asked gruffly, suddenly realizing she'd never really said.

She sighed and tilted her head against him.

"Law school," she answered. Her brow furrowed. "Homeland security, or the State Department, maybe," she added, feeling it out. She raised her shoulders. "I think I want to join JAG, but then I don't know if I want to join the military," she reasoned out. She shrugged. "I want a Ph.D."

"Overachiever," snorted Gibbs, rolling his eyes. "Go home, Jen, I'm gonna find a girl who'll major in belly dancing."

She rolled her eyes primly and took Banquo's paw, making him scratch Gibbs gently.

"So this is how it ends," she said dramatically.

"Yeah," Gibbs agreed solemnly.

Jenny pretended to swoon against him, giving him wide eyes.

"Oh, don't leave me, Jethro, I'll do anything," she simpered, pretending to be desperate.

"Anything?" he asked dramatically.

She cocked an eyebrow.

"I am not setting myself up for that one," she decided.

Her phone buzzed on the table, and Gibbs grabbed it for her, checking the message. She swatted it away, but before looking, raised her eyebrows to ask what it had said.

"Holly," he said gruffly, "wants to know if you can talk, or if you're busy _fucking_ me."

Jenny blushed and sat up, looking at the message herself. She decided not to answer, and then clicked the phone to sleep and slid it across the floor towards her backpack. Banquo chased it, swatting at it with his paws, and she pursed her lips primly, feeling a little awkward suddenly—Holly was just kidding; she always texted Jenny like that when Jenny was with Gibbs, but still, considering Gibbs had known for a while now that she was on birth control and they were just sort of stagnant...

"Hmm," Jenny murmured, pushing her hair back. "Elephant in the room," she joked lightly, giving him a lame smile.

He gave her a serious look.

"Elephant?" he growled. "Jen, don't have delusions of grandeur—it's not that big," he informed her.

She looked startled, and then covered her mouth and burst out laughing, shoving her head into his chest. He smirked, and she looked up, slapping him playfully on the shoulder, her cheeks still flushed.

"Yeah, babe," she snorted. "I've seen it, remember?"

"It'll seem bigger when it's not in your mouth."

Her mouth fell open. He stuck his finger in between her lips, and she bit him, glaring at him rudely.

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs—I'm _scandalized_!" she hissed at him, biting back giggles. He very rarely made crude jokes around her, even though she'd overheard a lot more than he thought from hanging around him when he was with his Marine buddies.

He smirked at her, and tickled her ribs, shaking his head comfortingly. He kissed her jaw, and then below her ear, and grazed his teeth against her neck, running his hand over her thighs.

"It's okay, Jen," he assured her—he was operating under very strict orders from himself to leave the sex issue up to her, and even though at this point he wanted it more than she could possibly imagine, but if there was something left holding her back, he had to respect that.

The fortunate thing was, if he'd thought he'd start letting his eyes wander or looking to some other woman, he found it was completely the opposite: as long as Jenny held out, he wanted her, and he was so emotionally attached to her now that he barely even noticed other women, even if they were attractive, if they were right in front of them.

She smiled, and moved forward, reaching for her history book and the notecards she'd been using. He took them both from her, and she started to protest, but he gave her a look to silence her, clearing his throat gruffly.

"Lemme help," he said simply, shrugging. He took the flashcards and smacked them against the book smugly, as if getting ready to host a game show. "You up for a round of strip studying?"

She arched her brows at him audaciously, and then parted her lips.

"I don't want to end up completely stark naked," she admitted primly.

He got the first card ready.

"Then you better get 'em right," he challenged, lowering his eyes to the card. "Which English Cardinal was instrumental in advising Henry Tudor in the first twenty years of his reign—only to die in disgrace after butting heads with Anne Boleyn?"

Jenny feigned ignorance.

"Archbishop Cromwell?"

He pointed to her watch and bracelets with a smirk—if may defeat the purpose of the game for her to play dumb, but it was definitely going to work in their favor otherwise.

* * *

Jenny had only participated in a teasing game of strip studying for half an hour before buckling back down. It was after midnight when Gibbs went to make her more tea that she fell asleep on her book, face down on the table. He came back in from the kitchen, and the cat was purring at her from the couch, watching her slumber. Her hair completely covered her face, and she looked exhausted—he wasn't surprised; she'd studied like this all day yesterday and Thursday night, and she said stress was keeping her from sleeping.

He returned the tea to the kitchen quietly and watched her sleep for a minute. He checked his watch—it was almost one a.m. and even though Jenny didn't have a curfew anymore, she usually told the Colonel she'd be home before two on weekends, just to ease him into her being a little—freer.

Gibbs rubbed his jaw, watched her sleep a moment longer, and then got a blanket and put it over her. He decided to shower and see if she woke up from her nap while he was gone. If she was still asleep when he got out, he'd go from there—and as it turned out, when he got out of the shower, towel-dried his hair, and pulled on sweats and a t-shirt, she was still dead asleep in the same place.

He picked up her cell phone, tapped in the code, and started to dial her father. Then, he cancelled the call, took a picture of her passed out asleep on her text books to keep for later, and started the call again. He stepped into the kitchen so his voice wouldn't wake her up. The Colonel answered on the first ring, gruff and wary.

"You okay, Little J?" he said.

Gibbs winced, unsure if he should announce himself. He'd never heard the Colonel call her by a cutesy nickname before. He cleared his throat and steeled himself.

"It's Gibbs, sir," he said.

Jasper Shepard was silent.

"What the hell's wrong?" he demanded sharply, an edge to his voice.

"Nothin'," Gibbs assured him, his voice neutral. "Wanted to let you know Jen feel asleep studyin. She's out cold," he said. "I don't want to wake 'er up, 'cause she needs the rest," he admitted, hesitating, "figured I'd let you know she'll be home when she wakes up."

The Colonel was silent for a long time, and then he grunted.

"She's gotta be exhausted," he remarked warily.

"She hasn't moved," Gibbs snorted, "and her forehead's smack in the middle of a textbook."

The Colonel grumbled to himself, as if he were having an internal argument that kept getting a little too loud.

"She doesn't need to drive home," he growled, annoyed. "If she wakes up, she'll be groggy and out of it."

"I can drive her home, sir," Gibbs assured him.

The Colonel grunted again, and gave an exasperated sigh.

"There's no effin'—point," he growled in an undertone. "You don't know when she'll wake up, and tomorrow she'll just end up back there," he groused. "Just keep 'er there, Corporal."

Gibbs fell silent. He pulled the phone away from his face and stared at it like it was a grenade, and then gingerly held it back to his ear.

"Uh," he said uncertainly. "What?"

"Did I stutter?" demanded the Colonel.

"No," Gibbs retorted slowly.

"You gonna take advantage of her if I let her sleep over there?" Jasper demanded.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes.

"No, sir," he snapped, offended at the idea. _Not unless she wants me to,_ he added silently.

"Didn't think so," griped the Colonel. "You heard me," he added grudgingly, mumbling a few choice swear words under his breath. "Keep her with you."

Gibbs swallowed hard, peering out of the kitchen at his sleeping girlfriend. He wanted Jen to stay the night, and he knew she wanted to as well, but having explicit permission was a little…unnerving. He swallowed, cleared his throat, grit his teeth, and nodded. It almost had the odd effect of making him feel like he was betraying the Colonel if he touched Jen-what had the original rule been?-below the neck.

"Ten-four," he said to the Colonel, and he was pretty sure Jen's father mumbled something unflattering before he slammed the phone down.

He hung up Jen's iPhone, and then slowly started to smirk as he placed it on the kitchen counter and strutted into the living room. He crouched down and cleaned up Jenny's school stuff, placing it in a haphazard pile while Banquo swished his tail and purred menacingly at him, busy watching over his sleeping mistress. Gibbs went into his bedroom, made sure the sheets were clean, and turned on a lamp so he'd be able to see better.

He'd meant what he said about not waking Jenny up, so he was as gentle as possible as he picked her up and started to carry her to bed—_his_ bed. She was so dead to the world she barely flinched; she just let her head fall against his chest, made a soft noise of protest, and resumed breathing evenly. He tucked her in to the side of the bed opposite him, pushing her hair off of his face, and then turned everything off in the apartment—and for the first time, he got into _his_ bed with Jenny and settled down to go to sleep.

He kept his distance, though; he didn't want her to panic when she woke up—and he fell asleep easily, to his surprise; he'd expected to find it impossible to sleep with her next to him, particularly since she'd never put her shorts back on after that game of strip studying, and her shirt was still unbuttoned. Still—he did sleep, and he only woke up once, when she suddenly sat up, looking around groggily.

He rolled over; blinking at her wearily, and she dragged her knees up, rubbing her mouth.

_"Dammit,"_ she murmured. "My father—"

"Called 'im," Gibbs growled, his face half in the pillows. He ran his hand over her leg and pushed it down gently, coaxing her down next to him. "He told me to keep you, you fell asleep—too late to go home," he mumbled gruffly, still half asleep himself.

"He said-?" she started. "I can spend-? With you?"

Gibbs just nodded, and Jenny pushed her hair back worriedly, and almost anxiously. She bit her lips, worrying it, and shivered; suddenly she was freezing. She realized she was still wearing next to nothing—damn strip game—and she looked over and saw he was bare-chested.

"Are you naked?" she whispered.

He laughed gruffly.

"No," he drawled, lifting the covers and showing her his boxers. He blinked sleepily and looked at her in the dark, sensing her uncertainty."You want me to get naked?" he teased thickly, and she cocked an eyebrow warily. He snorted, and tilted his head. "You want me to sleep on the couch?" he asked, sincerely not opposed to doing so if she was uncomfortable.

She looked taken aback.

"No," she said immediately, giving him a strange look. She'd slept in a bed with him before. "I want you to sleep with me," she murmured. It felt a little different, at his apartment.

"Mm-hmm," he mumbled, only sparing half a thought for sex, and then sleepily pushing it away. He lifted his arm. "C'mere, Jen," he said.

She ran her hands through her hair again, tugging on the ends, and then she laid down and rolled over, snuggling so close to him he was startled, considering she'd been so hesitant a moment ago. He breathed out and adjusted his arms, resting one over her, and she put her head near his chest, so close he felt her lashes brush against his bare skin.

She nudged him affectionately with her forehead, and bit her lip, pressing her nose against his heart. He was so warm, and she breathed out slowly, relaxing, letting some of the stress of studying so hard fall away—she suddenly felt the same way she had when they were fishing, and she bit her tongue—she didn't want to say that again, and it didn't matter if she felt it or not; one time was sufficient, she thought, until maybe—he said it back…or felt the same way…

She pressed her lips to his chest in a kiss—it felt so unexpectedly intimate, just _sleeping_ with him. She hadn't been able to really enjoy it last time, since she'd been so stressed out about her father's arrest. And...this felt different some how; in _his_ bed, in _his_ apartment, was different, more intimate, than in her childhood bedroom at her father's brownstone. And...she wasn't emotionally unhinged right now, she was content.

He cleared his throat and moved his head, catching her lips in a kiss. His forehead rested against hers for a moment, and he moved his lips against her cheek before pressing a kiss to her mouth again.

"Night, Jen," he mumbled, smirking.

She blinked, watching him close his eyes and bury his face back in the pillow, falling right back to sleep in that instant way only a Marine could.

* * *

She woke up slowly the next morning, prone to the usual hazy confusion that came from waking up in an unfamiliar place for the first time—except, his apartment wasn't unfamiliar; she had just never woken up in it before. She yawned, rubbing her nose and taking a deep breath. She looked over, shifting carefully, and found him sprawled on his stomach, snoring quietly. She smiled, biting her lower lip and rubbing her ankles together under the sheets—it was so surreal; she was in _bed_ with him. She had _slept_ over at his _apartment!_

His arm was still stretched out at an angle, from where it had been underneath her when he'd fallen asleep cuddling with her. She rolled onto her side, lifting her head a little—and then it occurred to her that it was morning, and if she'd just woken up she probably looked a _hot_ mess—and therein lay the downside of sleeping with someone. She frowned, struck with the need to go freshen up, and she turned slightly to get out of bed—that movement woke him up.

He cleared his throat roughly and blinked at her sleepily, taking in the sight of her. He seemed almost dumbstruck for a moment, and then she watched him remember, and she smirked somewhat bashfully. He reached up and rubbed his jaw, then ran a hand through his hair and lifted his head, his eyes raking over her. She crinkled her nose—at least she'd had make-up on when she'd fallen asleep last night, so the remnants of that were better than her _natural_ zombie-eyed wake-up face. She touched the ends of her hair again and then flushed.

"You're a sight I'd like to wake up to more often," he growled appreciatively—and he sounded so sincere, she was taken aback for a moment, not even able to be skeptical. He looked over her again, almost longingly.

She compressed her lips.

"Shut-up," she whispered huskily, her voice still thick with sleep.

"'M serious," he retorted bluntly, moving over. He caught some of her hair in his hand, and then kissed her, his tongue slipping right past her lips into her mouth. She put her hand over his, pleasantly surprised by the intimacy of the kiss this early in the morning, and kissed him back, moaning softly in protest when he broke the kiss.

He pushed her hair back, leaning up a bit more and tangling his fingers in it. He leaned forward and kissed her jaw, and then her throat, and then his lips brushed her shoulder, exploring her skin as he had numerous times before. She lowered her head and rolled into her side, slipping one of her legs in between his. He pulled her closer when her knee pressed into his groin. He was hard—which didn't necessarily surprise her, considering it was the morning and their sexual relationship defined 'everything but'. This morning, though…her blood veritably caught fire at the thought.

He moved his hands over her back and then around to her stomach, his fingers finding their way up her ribcage and inside her bra. She shrugged out of her shirt quickly, her hands finding his chest, and his lips were on hers again, kissing possessively, intently. She reached between them, her palm sliding over his abdomen and down to his boxers, but she hesitated at the waistband—she usually didn't anymore.

He nudged her cheek with his nose and started kissing her again, shifting his weight so he was pressing her into the pillows a little. Her hand lingered on the cotton of his boxers, and his hand moved from her breasts—which disappointed her, until he found his way between her legs.

She sucked in her breath in a quiet gasp, pulling back from the kiss when his fingers found their way easily inside her, and she bit her lip, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. Her heart slammed against her ribcage, and her mind seemed completely devoid of the usual flurry of confusion and excitement that usually careened through her at this point—she felt calm, and certain—

"Jethro," she whimpered softly, catching her breath again as his thumb pressed against her.

He shifted his hips impatiently; seeking reciprocation—but she pulled her hand back. He looked at her, and she gripped his bicep tightly, then slid her hand to his neck and rested it there, giving herself a minute to find words, while her stomach tightened and her head steadied a little.

She lost her nerve, and kissed him.

"Jethro," she said again, as his kiss became more intense again. He paused, parting his lips, slightly confused, and she captured them for a moment, giving him a long, slow kiss. "I want," she started, swallowing hard. "I want to have sex."

He pulled back, staring at her. It seemed—he was so accustomed to the answer being no, that he didn't exactly comprehend what she was saying. He blinked, and she curled her fingers against his neck, feeling his pulse jump from pleasantly elevated to medically dangerous. He set his jaw, and swallowed, giving her a guarded, warning look.

"Don't jerk me around, Jen," he said—almost pleaded.

"I'm not," she said softly, biting her lip. She opened her eyes seriously, her brows going up. She shifted onto her stomach and lifted her head, moving closer to him a little, and looking at his mouth. She flicked her eyes up to his. "I want you," she started, and paused, a beautiful blush striking her cheeks as she bit her lip and laughed huskily-she crinkled her nose and giggled, "to _fuck_ me."

He still stared at her, as if he didn't quite want to give in—and then he reached for her, catching her in his arms and tangling them up together so fast she wasn't sure how the hell it had happened—he was kissing her like mad, like she'd never been kissed before, and she felt like she'd lost her breath. The pit of her stomach reacted like she was on a roller-coaster, and when he pulled her on top of him and shoved the sheets away from them, she looked down at him, her hair framing her face, her lips parted, and realized almost immediately that—she _did_ want to do it. She didn't have _any_ qualms.

He ran his hands over her thighs firmly, his thumbs brushing her panties as he slid them to her hips and then up her ribcage to her bra. He tugged on the frayed little bow on her cotton bra and reached around to unhook it when she pressed her hands to his chest—looking stricken, suddenly.

"Jethro," she breathed out, in a panicked voice.

He grit his teeth, trying to look calm—if she changed her mind, he thought he might drop dead, right in front of her.

"I don't have cute underwear on!" she moaned, closing her eyes in dismay.

He blinked.

"_What_?" he asked shortly.

"I mean…I bought…sexy lingerie for when we…did this," she mumbled, her green eyes wide and disappointed.

He stared at her panties and bra; they looked sexy enough to him. Hell, that part didn't even matter—it was more about how she looked in whatever she chose to put on. And she looked damn good.

"So?" he grunted, genuinely unconcerned.

He fingered the claps of her so-called not cute bra, itching to get it off of her. He wanted to feel her breasts against his chest—and then he wanted her completely naked underneath him—unless she wanted to be on top.

_"So?!_ I'm just wearing—cotton!"

"I'm just gonna take it off, Jen."

"What?" she looked exasperated. "Why would you take off my sexy underwear?"

He stared at her.

"Oh," she blushed. "Right, we're having sex," she reminded herself.

She lay against him and placed her forehead against his clavicle, shaking her head bashfully.

"I'm so sorry," she muttered, laughing at herself. "I don't know what to do."

He snorted and ran his hand through her hair. He pulled her head up, and kissed her again, letting his hands linger in her hair for a moment before he went back to taking her bra off.

"I do," he assured her.

Her lips brushed his ear nervously.

"You've slept with virgins before, right?"

"Jen," he muttered in a low voice. "I'm in bed with _you_," he pointed out warily.

She took that to mean he did not want to discuss past experiences or other women, and she realized she liked that idea a lot. She clamped her mouth shut, and went to kiss him again—then she realized she needed to move her arms so he could slide her bra off. She did, and his lips immediately went to her breasts.

She moaned softly and bit her lip, arching over him so he could better access her. She hadn't let him do this very often—so she was overly sensitive to it, and just his mouth, and his early morning stubble, against her bare skin, was stimulating enough to make her move her hips against his groin. He reached down and rubbed his hand against her for a moment, before pressing her down into the cradle of his hips. She licked her lips and started running her tongue and teeth over his neck down to his shoulder, tasting his skin, trying to focus on something so she'd stop analyzing every single one of his movements.

He slid his hands into her panties, cupping her bare ass, and then stroked against her skin for a moment before massaging her thighs and biting her lower lip gently to get her attention. He wanted to get them off, she realized, and she tumbled off of him, reaching to slide them off of her. He tossed them off the bed, and she turned and reached for his boxers, pushing them down. Her eyes lingered on his cock, and then he pulled her to him—and he was on top of her, his body warm and heavy, fitting against.

She gasped, reminded for a moment of the afternoon they'd almost had sex in her window seat—she felt him pressing against her now, just shy of breaching new territory, and she kissed him for all she was worth, trying to quell her heartbeat and the butterflies in her stomach.

"Jen," he groaned, as her hands gripped him tightly, wrapped around his shoulders, nails digging into his biceps. "Jen," he demanded again, breaking her kiss. His eyes met hers, and he arched his brows. "You sure?" he asked.

She nodded, licking her lips. She parted them. He kept his eyes on her.

"I don't want you to think you have to," he told her. "You can stop me-"

She nodded again.

"I _know,_ Jethro," she interrupted softly. She smiled, and ran her hands over his muscles. He was still looking at her warily, and she laughed. "Jethro, I want it! I want to do it!" she assured him, laughing huskily. She didn't think she could consent any more clearly, but it was nice that he wanted to be totally sure. She squeezed him tightly, her stomach tightening—she felt like she did when she wanted him to slip his fingers inside her, but she remembered how tense that had been at first. "Jethro," she said, her voice wavering. "What if it hurts?"

"It might," he muttered, kissing her again. His forehead rested against hers.

She rolled her eyes—at herself—and reached between them, her fingers wrapping around him, and then testing out herself—she breathed in and out a few times, and kissed him, nodding her head slowly. She felt him shift—and she licked her lips again, tilting her head back—there hadn't been much foreplay, but she was wet, and she felt like she could take him—she had never been more thankful that she was on birth control.

He looked away from her, bracing his knee against the bed next to her thigh, and raking his eyes over her for a moment, memorizing her, and then he gently knocked her hand out of the way and slid two fingers into her, thrusting a couple of times—until she moaned and bit her lip—and then he started to ease into her, pressing his fingers comfortingly against her stomach. Her hand clenched against his back, and she let her arm fall to the sheets. She gathered those in her hands and blinked, parting her lips. He grit his teeth, closing his eyes for a moment. He forced himself to use every ounce of self-control he had not to thrust into her hard—_god_, she felt _good_.

He pushed in a little more, and she made a noise, pulling on the sheet tighter. She bit down on her lip and he looked at her, waiting until she met his eyes. She smiled at him faintly and licked her lips. Her nails were really digging into his shoulder, and that worried him—if he was hurting her, he needed her to tell him.

"Jenny," he asked huskily. "Jen-?"

"It doesn't hurt," she said, her words tumbling out in a rush, "you're not hurting me," she murmured, flushing. She shifted and then winced, her nose wrinkling. "It's just—uncomfortable," she tried to explain, scrambling to find words. "Tight."

He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the word. He swallowed hard.

"Want me to stop?"

"No," she whispered. "Just…give me a minute."

She closed her eyes; he watched her take a slow, deep breath. His eyes ran over her, and then he lowered his lips to her jaw, brushing his mouth against her soothingly. He kissed her, and nudged her cheek with his nose.

"Knees," he mumbled tightly. "Lift your knees," he advised. He was almost positive he was going to hurt her if she didn't relax her legs a little and he kept pushing.

She nodded, spread her legs a little more, and he sensed some of the resistance give; he grit his teeth and pushed into her all the way, deciding to get it over with. She arched her back—which he hadn't expected—and he groaned; she whimpered slightly, and pulled the hair at the nape of his neck. He breathed out heavily, waiting for her to open her eyes. She nodded slowly, and he gave her a minute to adjust—and then he lowered his mouth to her breasts and shifted his hips back, before easing into her gently again.

She sucked in her breath softly.

"Ah," she managed, wincing.

"Jen?" he managed, trying to concentrate on holding out. "Talk to me, Jen."

She opened her eyes, adjusting her head on the pillow.

"It...aches, a little," she admitted. She compressed her lips. "It's like, like," she struggled for words. "Like a dull throb," she decided, looking at him shyly. She moved her hands hesitantly, and placed them on his chest. "Keep, um," she started. "Keep moving."

"You said it hurt," he growled.

"I need to get used to it," she said. "Slow, okay?"

He kissed her, and did as she asked—the same slow, deep movement, and each time, he felt less like he was forcing himself into her and more like they were having sex. She moved one of her hands to her chest, tangling her fingers in her necklace, and he kept moving, setting a rhythm with his hips that wasn't too aggressive for her.

She caught her breath, her mouth open for a moment, and then she moaned.

"Oh my god," she gasped, her lashes fluttering. "Jethro," she moaned—it still felt a little awkward, but there was something else there, too; like if he just got her through the newness of it, and hit the right spot—

He groaned and grit his teeth, forgetting himself for a moment and slamming his hips against hers.

"Fuck," she swore, tears springing to her eyes, like they did when she stubbed her toe. She scratched his chest with her nails, clenching her jaw. "_Ouch_, Jethro, _dammit,"_ she admonished tensely. She punched him in the arm. _That_ had been too hard. He kissed her, mortified, genuinely apologetic, and then he moved slower, and she was back to sighing contently, if nervously.

His abdomen clenched, and he slowed down some, swallowing tensely.

"Jen," he managed huskily, his lips against hers. "'M not gonna last long," he started gruffly, and she nodded, moving her hands over his hips, and then back through her hair. It had been too long since he'd had sex, and she was way too much for him to handle. She nodded her head several times.

"Mm-hmm," she murmured—she didn't think she could come; there was too much going on for her, and it was too—still not quite _right_. He lowered his lips to hers, kissing her hard, and pulled her hips towards him.

"Jenny," he murmured reverently.

She caught her breath, and swallowed.

"Say my name like that again," she said shakily-he sounded so...so...she couldn't describe it. "I like it."

"Jen," he repeated huskily, and his thumb pressed into her hip, and pulling her body against him; his lips met hers again, aggressively, desperately, and she gasped, her heart racing.

She flinched—he thrust into her a little too hard, again, and she sucked in her breath—but the pain didn't come as sharply that time, and he did it again, encouraged by her lack of sound, and she was just beginning to understand how _good_ sex was when he swore into his kiss, shuddered against her, and relaxed, his forehead laying heavily against her chest.

She closed her eyes. Her skin felt hot, ignited, and her stomach was tight; her head spun, and she took a deep breath, and then her mind was clear again, and she bit her lip—because when he looked up, she didn't want him to see her smiling like a teenaged idiot—but he did look up, and she was smiling, and he arched his brows.

She laughed softly, and he shifted, reaching down between them to stroke his hand over her as he eased out—it was an inexplicable sort of discomfort to feel empty suddenly, and she set her teeth together, wincing. He bent to kiss her navel, and she pushed his hand away from her clit—she knew he'd take care of her, but for the moment—she wasn't ready for it.

He laid down next to her and put his arm around her protectively, stretched out on his side, looking down at her. She pushed her own hair back and looked at her thighs for a moment before meeting his eyes. She swallowed several times, and then blinked rapidly—there were tears in her eyes from some of the sharp discomfort—even though really, she wouldn't even describe it as pain, now that it was over—and she was afraid he'd think he made her cry.

She lifted her head and looked down—messy sheets, naked legs tangled together. She pressed her knees together, her hand still fisted in the sheets.

She said possibly the most unromantic thing she could have come up with:

"Is there blood?"

Gibbs looked taken aback, and then glared at her, and sat up, eyeing her warily. He shook his head, lying back down.

"No," he muttered, bending to kiss her.

She let out a breath of relief—she had worried about that more than anything. She'd known Jethro would take care of her when it came to going slow and making sure she didn't get hurt, but that bloody scene in _The Bell Jar_ had really done a number on her—

"'Sorry 'bout the," he growled against her cheek, trailing off. She'd sounded upset when she punched him. He'd thought she was used to him, and he'd let the heady desire get ahead of him.

She ran her hand through his hair for a moment, and then tilted her head.

"That's a sign of weakness," she said huskily. She bit her lip. "It's was...a nice pain," she whispered uncertainly. "I don't even remember it," she admitted, her brow furrowing-and she didn't really.

He looked up at her, and then pushed her hair back, his fingers brushing her eyes and lips affectionately.

"Good?" he asked.

She moved her lips—she didn't trust herself to speak. She shifted towards him and cuddled up, pressing herself close to his chest and closing her eyes for a moment. She didn't know how to feel—breathless, initiated? The most unbelievable thing was that she felt no different at all—she just felt closer to him.

"Are you going to fall asleep now?" she asked, when his breathing started to even out—he was just letting her use him as a pillow, silently accepting whatever she wanted after her first—experience.

He laughed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

"Yeah," he admitted.

She smirked—it was just like _they_ said; men fell asleep afterwards. She wriggled away from him a little and sat up—and she noticed she no longer felt even slightly wary of being naked around him. She ran a hand over herself, between her legs, and bit her tongue, swallowing.

"I," she started. "I'm going—can I get in the shower?" she asked softly.

He looked at her intently, and she saw worry cross his eyes. He nodded, and she bent to kiss him on the jaw. She got out of bed, sitting on the edge for a moment to run her hands over her knees and use his sheets to clean up—condoms might dampen the mood, but they would confine the mess a little more, she thought.

She stood up, gathered her hair over her shoulder, and walked into his bathroom. She'd only been in there minute when he was knocking on the door. She was trying to figure out if she was sore, and she was eyeing herself in the mirror—red, swollen lips, tangled man of hair—and then she turned at the sound of the knock and opened the door a little, looking at him curiously.

He looked a little guilty, and uncertain, and he had his boxers back on. He rubbed his jaw and just studied her for a moment. He ran his hand back through her hair, looking guilty in a guarded way.

"Jen," he said thickly. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yes," she said honestly, nodding earnestly. "I wanted to clean up," she murmured, flushing a little. A smile touched her lips.

He leaned against the door, and she opened it a little more, pushing her hand through her hair. Though she was naked, his eyes stayed on her face, and she took a deep breath, trying to put what she was feeling into words.

"I should've gone down on you first," he growled, kicking himself—it might have been less uncomfortable then, and then she'd definitely have come, so he wouldn't feel like such a selfish asshole right now. He wanted her to come back to bed, even if he was just going to fall asleep. It worried him that she ran off to the bathroom.

But she furrowed her brow, and shook her head.

"It would have been too much," she managed to say, smirking weakly. "I wanted it to just be the sex—Jethro," she started, pausing. "I'm okay; I wasn't going to…it wasn't you," she explained—she couldn't believe he was feeling bad about her lack of orgasm, of all things. "I was distracted, trying to take it all in."

He stared at her, and then cocked an eyebrow. She laughed, blushing brightly and covered her mouth a moment.

"I mean-! Well, your…_that_, too! But, I," she paused. She bit her lip and smiled at him, resting her head against the doorframe next to where his hand had taken up residence. "It was good," she said, her voice quiet and confident—and that had been what he told her he wanted it to be, when they'd discussed waiting. She took his hand from the door, and pressed her lips against his fingertips. He tasted salty, like sweat and heat, and she flushed_-she_ did that to him. She bit gently on his fingertip, and smirked shyly.

It _had_ been good. She hadn't had too many illusions about what the first time would be like—not like the movies, she knew, and nothing to write home about; but she was particularly satisfied with _her_ first time. She had liked how he felt, how he talked to her, how he looked. She smiled at him, glancing at him through her lashes.

"I want to do it again," she assured him, glancing behind her. She tangled her hand in her hair. "You, um—you want to shower with me?" she asked shyly.

He studied her intently, and then he grinned, and she held open the bathroom door and let him in.

* * *

She stood outside the townhouse that evening staring at the stained glass, completely convinced it was written on her forehead, and debating whether or not she should open the door.

She did, and the familiar creak was the same, and Ike barking joyously in greeting was the same. There was nothing out of the ordinary—except she'd had sex this morning, and then she'd had sex again in the shower—a terrible idea for a second time, she discovered—and then she'd had sex again in his bed, and the third time had been the charm, and now she was walking into her father's house like she wasn't a completely different person.

That was it, though—she wasn't. She'd always thought it would be some monumental thing that would change her forever or make her suddenly see the world differently—but it wasn't like that. She was still Jenny.

She shut the door behind her, and her father looked at her from the study, waving her in.

"Where've you been?" he grunted at her, glaring over a file.

She paled.

"You," she started. "Jethro told me—I stayed the night, but he told me—" she stuttered, near having a heart attack.

The colonel snorted at her, and smirked, waving his hand.

"I'm just messin' with you, Jennifer," he snorted, shaking his head. "You might have called and told me what your plans were," he added, giving her a narrow look.

She smiled faintly, and nodded, still stroking Ike. Her backpack was over her shoulder, and she wondered if he thought her hair looked suspicious, or if he had noticed that her lips were non-virgin lips.

He looked at her, and then arched his brows. He waved his hand.

"You get any studyin' done?" he asked.

She blinked, and cocked her head. She broke into a wry grin suddenly, because whether it was endorphins or actual confidence, she suddenly felt so sure about her AP exams that all the stress seemed to be—gone.

She nodded.

"You need any essays written on the fall of the Spanish Armada, or Chemical equations balanced?" she asked primly.

Her father snorted.

"Smartass," he growled, still looking at her intently.

She couldn't read him, and she wondered if he could read her. She pushed her hair out of her face and licked her lips. Ike sat next to her and whined, seeking more attention—and her father pointed to him.

"Take 'im for a walk, he hasn't been out all day," he ordered gruffly.

She nodded, strolling into the study for a leash. She took it off the mantle, tucking her hair behind her ears and crouching to hook Ike up. She kissed his snout, and stood to take him out.

"Jennifer," her father called.

She turned and looked at him, and he looked at her warily, his gaze boring into her as if he were trying to deduce something. She arched her eyebrows. Her father made a gruff noise and changed his mind, waving his hand for her to leave. She figured he decided it wasn't his place to ask what had gone on—and she wondered if he thought she'd already had sex with Jethro, anyway.

She clicked her tongue, and pushed her cell phone into her pocket, taking a deep breath as she took the dog out onto the evening streets for a good lengthy walk. Ike trotted beside her happily, and she tilted her face up and basked in the setting sun, navigating the familiar streets on instinct.

She tilted her head, and wondered why they called it losing virginity, when she didn't feel like she'd _lost_ anything at all—she felt like she'd gained a whole new element of her relationship.

* * *

_wish Gibbs had fucked me before my AP exams._

_feed back appreciated!_

_-__alexandra_

_*The answer to the strip-study question is ! WOLSEY, WOLSEY, WOLSEY._


	20. Rosie the Riveter

_a/n: at the request of my beloved beta, Mila, we have a Jenny-Gibbs baseball scene (definitely an homage to the Hollis-Gibbs baseball scene)! (and some double entendres, of course). _

* * *

_Chapter Eighteen_

_Rosie the Riveter_

* * *

"You want it hard and fast or easy and slow?"

Jenny stomped her foot and let the baseball bat in her hands fall against her hip, squinting her eyes in the sun and glaring at her boyfriend. She pursed her lips threateningly and narrowed her eyes.

"You want me to hit you in the face with this bat?" she retorted, trying not to crack a smile at the joke.

He stared at her blankly, feigning innocence. He hovered his hand over the settings on the baseball machine, pretending he needed her to tell him. She rolled her eyes and bent her knees slightly, lifting the bat again and clutching it. She shook her head, getting her ponytail off of her shoulders.

"Medium speed," she answered, cocking her eyebrows. "You know, until we get a good rhythm," she added innocently.

He glared at her, set the machine, and jogged over to lean against the chain link batting cage, quick to get out of the way. He eyed her form critically as she lined herself up with the plate, and watched as the machine fired the first baseball. She didn't swing at it—she swung at the second, and it glanced off the tip of her bat. She swung too hard and too fast at the next one, lost her balance, and whirled on her heel—she ended up facing him while the ball rocketed past her ear and bounced off the fence.

She compressed her lips, tried to look sheepish, and burst into laughter. He stared at her in disbelief—how could she fuck up a swing that horribly? He turned and unhooked the lock for the cage, stepping outside. She opened her mouth in shock and hopped forward, catching his shirt.

"What the hell—"

"Can't date a girl who plays baseball like it's a ballet, Jen," he said, pretending to storm away.

She pouted and swung her bat, hitting him lightly in the knees with it and tugging on his shirt firmly.

"Jethro," she demanded. "Hey—get in here, teach me how to hit it, if I'm so offensive," she snorted, rolling her eyes.

He pretended to grudgingly come back in, and locked the cage. She grinned smugly, and he reached for the bat, taking it from her gently. She reached up and patted his jaw sweetly, fluttering her lashes.

"You said you could play," he accused.

"I said my dad used to play catch with me," she corrected. "I can pitch—"

"You're a damn liar."

She opened her mouth in outrage and snatched the baseball bat back, raising it menacingly as if to hit him with it like she'd threatened. He laughed and blocked it, wrenching it back easily and giving her a superior look. He held it above her head, and she reached for it, frowning when she had to jump to clasp her fingers around it. He grinned again, and she stepped back, gallantly gesturing to the plate.

"Show me how it's done then, Babe Ruth," she mocked, jogging out to the machine to choose a speed. "You want the hardest setting?"

"Sounds like me."

Jenny rolled her eyes, biting a smirk back, and setting the machine to what he wanted. She squealed softly and ran back to get out of the way, leaning against the chain link fence like he had a moment ago. She watched him assume a professional position—he played baseball with a bunch of his Sniper class sometimes—and arched her eyebrows as he knocked three baseballs in a row an impressive distance.

He showed off with two more, and then she licked her lips, tilting her head and eyeing his jeans. She smirked, and tilted her head back, shifting her head so her ponytail fell through one of the holes in the cage.

"Anyone ever tell you you've got a cute butt?" she asked innocently, and this time, instead of hitting the ball, he swung distractedly and turned to glare at her, the bat dragging dejectedly in the mud.

She smirked sweetly, and arched one eyebrow.

"Cheater," he growled at her.

She blew him a kiss, and pushed forward, wincing as the wire fence pulled a few of her hairs out. She strode over and took the bat, holding it against her shoulder. She tilted her head, gesturing at the plate and the machine.

"You gonna show me what's what?" she challenged.

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, nodding, and then flicking the brim of her hat up and smacking it right back down over her eyes playfully. She pouted her lips, wrinkling her nose as she flicked it back up and stepped to the plate. He went and set the machine on slow, and timed it to wait five minutes before it started. He strolled back over and took her elbows, standing behind her and adjusting her posture.

"You'n' the Colonel only play catch?" he asked. "Or did you hit some?"

"He taught me how to told a bat, if that's what you're asking."

"Hoist your elbow some," Gibbs ordered gruffly, showing her.

"Hoisting the colours, mate," she teased obediently, lifting her elbow.

"Mm-hmm," he grunted, adjusting her other elbow some. He hit his knees against the backs of hers; reaching around her to make sure she had both her arms at the right angles. "Bend your knees, but keep 'em loose," he muttered in her ear, his lips brushing her skin, "keep your weight even, balance on the balls of your feet," he added, and glared at her when her legs straightened up a little, "bend your knees, Jen," he reiterated.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you," she muttered under her breath.

He pinched her ribs and she jumped back against him, screwing up her footing _and_ the angle of her arms. He growled at her in frustration, and she jerked her arm back and elbowed him, frowning good-naturedly.

"Don't tickle me!" she ordered primly—if he wanted her to keep her position, he couldn't be interfering with it!

He guided her in setting up again, and then kept his knees against hers, nudging her feet with his to make her toes point in the same direction. He pressed a kiss to her jaw, and then to her neck, and glanced at the machine.

"You ready?" he asked in a low voice.

She squinted her eyes, squaring up her sight, and then nodded. He stepped back slowly, and she puckered her lips in a pout—and tightened her grip on the bat. The machine started—and again, she decided not to swing at the first ball.

The second, she put all her strength into, and hit it a damn impressive distance. She smirked and leapt up, shouting in triumph.

"Jen!" shouted Gibbs, exasperated, and she turned to look at him smugly, expecting praise for her homerun, only to have the last baseball slam into her thigh and startle her into dropping to her ass in brown dirt.

Her eyes wide, she slid onto the home plate, looking around quickly to see what had hit her, and Gibbs stormed over, crouching and reaching for her leg. He ran his hand over the huge, throbbing red mark, and she sucked in her breath, looking sheepish and trying not to laugh.

Gibbs eyed the injury warily; it was going to bruise like hell. He looked at her, and watched her blink bluntly at the red spot. She ran her hand over it and then looked up at him through her lashes, curling her lips impishly.

"We never can get that rhythm right," she sighed dramatically.

He touched her neck and tilted her head up to him, flicking the red mark on her leg gently. She jumped, and he narrowed his eyes at her seriously, glaring.

"I don't have a rhythm problem," he growled. "You've got a pacing problem," he accused, and gave her a hard kiss on the mouth.

She giggled and pressed her hands against his chest, tilting her head and closing her eyes against the sun. She leaned into the kiss—she kept teasing him because she insisted his inability to set an appropriate rhythm was interfering with her ability to climax, without him going down on her before or after, when they had sex—but she knew it was her fault, because she was still learning how exactly to do what they were doing, and she kept throwing off his habitual approach.

The batting cage rattled, and one of the guys working the cages shot them a glare and pointed aggressively at the machine.

"You want me to program it to hit the two of you in the head?" he asked callously—obviously, he didn't think their little show of PDA was cute, nor did he want it taking up valuable batting cage time.

Gibbs grabbed the bat, standing up, and he pulled Jenny up with him. She brushed dust off of her thighs and shorts, and then reached up and swept her hat off, placing it on Gibbs' head for a moment as she took her hair down and shook it out. She licked her lips and glanced at the sun for a moment; she grinned and looked up at him, fluttering her lashes thickly. She took his shirt in her hand and leaned forward, rising on tiptoes to put her lips close to her ear.

"Fuck baseball, want to go back to your place and do it?"

He dropped the aluminum bat immediately.

* * *

Jenny breathed in deeply, and let out her breath, running her hands through her hair and lifting her head from the pillows. She rubbed her ankles together gently and bit her lip lightly, looking over at Gibbs. He was laying on his side, one arm under her pillow, one arm thrown possessively over her hip, and he was half asleep when she leaned over and kissed him until he opened his eyes.

He smirked at her lazily, and she touched her nose to his, worrying her lip with her teeth again.

"You know it occurred to me that all those weekends we spent at the shooting range, or Krav Maga, or eating dinner—we could have been doing this," she murmured.

He snorted.

"Mm-hmm," he mumbled. "Tried to tell ya."

"You did _not_."

He shifted his head, and started to run his hand lightly over her spine, up and down. He shrugged.

'M biased in favor of it," he grunted. "Thought it'd seem like pressure."

Jenny sighed dramatically, quietly.

"What a fuckin' catch twenty-two," she murmured, and leaned in to kiss him again. She tossed her hair over her shoulders and shivered, starting to lay back and snuggle closer to him—and then changed her mind and crawled on top of him instead. She straddled his hips, and pulled the sheets around her, tilting her head and looking down at him.

He shifted again, lifting one knee up so she could lean against it, and he arched an eyebrow as if waiting for her to say something. She clutched the wrinkled sheet—wrinkled mostly from her habit of clutching it so tightly while they had sex—and studied him intently, biting on her lip.

He thought she looked impossibly sexy, perched on him like that, her hair all knotted, sweaty and messy, her lips swollen, skin flushed. He lifted his hands and placed them on her thighs, massaging small circles with his thumbs. She glanced up at the bedpost and smiled wickedly, and he grinned back—she'd been wearing that sexy lingerie she mentioned when he got her batting cage clothes off. He thought she looked just as good in it as anything else, but she was so damn proud of the lacy, matching set that he hadn't taken the bra off—it was just the panties he'd removed and hung over the bedpost.

She leaned forward, the edges of her hair brushing his chest, and compressed her lips.

"I used to have these naïve misconceptions about sex," she murmured.

He arched an eyebrow, mildly curious.

"Mm-hmm," she confirmed, nodding slowly. "I thought it was impossible to do unless you wanted a baby—and when I was disabused of that notion, I thought you could only do it at night, in the dark."

Gibbs laughed, and she grinned, parting her lips and arching her brows.

"It's mid-afternoon, and we've never done it with the lights off," she whispered.

He grunted, shrugging his shoulders. He moved his hands on her thighs higher, pushing her down against him. She didn't understand how thrilled he was that she'd wanted to start doing this, because he'd been living like a Priest before he started seeing her, and he'd been so tempted and teased since. He wanted to make up for every moment he spent giving her time to think it through, and the best thing about it was, she was about as insatiable as he was right now—and her inexperience didn't deter her at all.

"Like the lights on," he said, tugging on her sheet a little and pulling it away from her. He let his eyes run over her breasts and how they looked in that lacy bra, and then looked down to where their hips met, running his hands to the inside of her thighs.

"Can't find your way without 'em, huh?" she teased.

He glared at her balefully, and she bent to kiss him. He pressed his fingers against her gently between them and she gasped, her stomach tightening against his. He smirked, and then broke the kiss, nudging her chin with his nose.

"Was it good for you?" he muttered gruffly, catching her eye sternly. "This time?"

She nodded, pressing her mouth to his again. It hadn't ever been _bad_—at least she wouldn't necessarily use that word, because even if there had been pain or mishaps, she'd still _liked_ it; she liked him and she liked being intimate with him. He was just wary because he'd only gotten her to come twice while they were having sex, and that seemed to be different compared to his other experiences, even if he hadn't said that.

"It's not your _fault_, Jethro," she murmured.

He rolled his eyes in annoyance, his jaw tightening, and took his hands from between her legs. She frowned at him, pouting at the loss, and he ran his hands through her hair, holding her head so she was looking right at him.

"What's the rhythm problem?" he demanded.

She laughed, flushing,

"That's a joke—I don't," she faltered. She blew air out of her mouth and lowered herself against him more, deciding she should just answer him. "I guess sometimes I want you to go slower or," she paused, and then she blushed furiously.

He grinned at the sight.

"What?" he murmured, running his thumb across her lips.

She licked her lips, closing her eyes and then peeking at him shyly.

"Harder?" she said, almost uncertainly. "It's like there's something I need you to—_hit_, hard a few times," she said slowly, lowering her voice.

He studied her a moment, and then grunted.

"Is it better with my fingers?" he asked uncertainly, hoping to God that wasn't the problem—he tightened his hands in her hair, and she blinked at him, taken aback.

"_God_, no," she answered. "I like your cock, your fingers are like—like…I don't know, _appetizers_ compared to it—"

She noticed the bemused expression on his face and bit her lip in embarrassment, flushing and letting her forehead fall to his chest. She laughed, figuring she'd said something idiotic, and he massaged her shoulders and ran his hands over her again. He found the claps of her bra and slipped it off, shifting his head to kiss her bare shoulders, and lower, to her breasts.

She closed her eyes and reveled in that for a moment. She moved her lips against him—she wanted to do it again, she usually did when she felt like it hadn't lasted long enough, or when he used his mouth on her—she liked oral sex, hell, she liked anything that ended in an orgasm—but those two times he'd been inside her when it happened—it made her crazy, and she craved it again and again.

"Jethro," she murmured encouragingly.

He shifted, and started to switch positions—pull her under him—and then he paused, with her half underneath him and him lingering over her. He looked down at her, the sheets bunched near their hips, and his cock hard against her thigh again.

"You be on top," he suggested.

She stared at him, and then shook her head, licking her lips.

"I like you on top," she answered.

"You haven't gotten on top," he pointed out. He eyed her intently for a moment, and then grit his teeth, apparently figuring something out. "You control the pace on top."

She still looked uncertain, apprehension in her eyes, and he frowned, wondering what was bothering her.

"Jen, if you're on top, I don't have to support my weight with my hands," he growled tensely—she sensed he wasn't sure how to put it into words. "I can—touch you," he managed, mumbling the last.

She tilted her head with interest.

"Oh," she breathed.

He nodded. She started to push him back over, to take his advice, and then she stopped, lying next to him. She licked her lips, gave him an apologetic look.

"Jethro," she started. "I don't know why, I just…" she trailed off, and looked annoyed with herself. "I like sex, I like doing this, but I'm still not that confident…I like it better when you're in charge."

He nodded, backing off. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable, and even if he didn't understand what she was worried about, he let it go. He figured there was something going on in her mind that he wasn't going to get because he was a guy and things just didn't compute the same way when it came to guys and sex.

She leaned in to kiss him, and he wrapped an arm around her, tugging on her hair gently.

"You're quite a good drill sergeant, Corporal," she murmured seductively, and he smirked into her kiss, appreciative of the jest.

His fingers brushed the necklace at her throat, and as he pushed her down under him again, she gasped, lifting her knees up by his hips. She arched her hips towards him, and something clicked in his head, something—well, he wasn't going to mention that Diane taught it to him, but it occurred to him that—

"Jen," he muttered against her mouth.

"Hmm?" she half-moaned, insistently stroking him with her hand.

He set his jaw, distracted for a moment by her palm, and then kissed her jaw, holding his weight off of her some.

"You said there's somethin' I'm not hittin'?"

It took her a moment to register what he'd said, and then she blushed, and tilted her head up, looking at the ceiling.

"I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about," she managed in a small voice. She licked her lips again, and then looked at him, wincing a little. "I think you're still afraid you might hurt me?" she guessed. "It hasn't hurt since Monday night and I…if you're more aggressive, you might hit…deeper."

She waited for a moment, and then groaned in exasperation and closed her eyes, reaching up to cover her face.

"I sound like an idiot."

She didn't know when she'd gotten so pornographic—and she was pretty sure if she was more confident and accustomed to this, she'd be able to just tell him he needed to fuck her harder—she opened her eyes and pursed her lips.

"Jethro, it's like the kissing—I had to tell you to stop kissing me like I was the Colonel's daughter," she reminded him quickly, her cheeks flushing. "Does that—make sense?"

He nodded again, and she saw him smirk. He shifted, and slipped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her up against him. He sat back on his knees and kissed her, while she shifted onto her knees and faced him, her hair framing her face. He pushed it back, knotting it in his fingers, and kissed her again, one of those long, deep, breathless kisses that made her dizzy.

"Jen," he growled quietly, his lips close to hers. "You wanna try somethin'? You trust me?"

He felt her bite her lip, and tilt her head, and her lashes fluttered against his cheek. She nodded. He kissed over her jaw, and then grazed her ear with his teeth and pushed her hair back again.

"Knees," he instructed. "Hands and knees."

She paused, remaining very still, and compressed her lips delicately.

"Um, Jethro, I don't want to-"

He gave her a scandalized look.

"I'm not puttin' anything anywhere it hasn't been before," he growled at her, rolling his eyes.

She flushed, and swallowed.

He ran his hands over her, pulling her close again, and closed his lips over her earlobe for a moment.

"Hands and knees," he requested again, his voice husky.

She pulled back and raised an eyebrow; it clicked; he meant a different position, not a different destination.

"What am I, your bitch?" she asked primly, but took a deep breath, and did as he asked.

He leaned over her, kissed her shoulder, and down her spine, and then squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. He rose up on his knees behind her, pulling her hips into the cradle of his, and then reached around to her navel, slipping his hand down and stroking her for a moment.

She moaned, and he grit his teeth, forcing himself to wait a minute until she was good and wet, so he wouldn't hurt her and ruin this position before she learned how good it was. She bit her lip, and whimpered his name, and that's when he removed his hand, pressed his warm palm to her lower back, and slipped into her from behind.

She gasped.

"_Oh_, god—oh, _fuck_—Jethro!"

He knew enough about the pitch of her husky, butterscotch bedroom voice to know it must be _good _for her.

* * *

Jenny felt her father glaring at her suspiciously, but she ignored it. She kept up her appearance of being completely absorbed in her book and her tea as she sat curled up in the leather chair near his desk. He was glaring at her because it was a Friday night, and she was home—and that threw him off; she was never _not_ with Gibbs on weekend nights anymore, and she'd been with him all day yesterday, because after her protracted study session with her friends—after which they'd all gone home to study in solitude for a while—she'd gone out to blow off steam and play baseball with him, and to the Colonel's annoyance, she hadn't come home until one a.m.

He'd kept his mouth shut, though, because he knew she was having an internal panic attack about her AP Chemistry exam, and that hadn't started until noon, so she'd gotten a good amount of sleep before it, anyway.

She told him it went okay, but he had his doubts—if she was in a good place, she'd be out with Gibbs, not blithely pretending it was normal for her to be reading a book in her father's study at eighteen on a warm Friday night.

When she turned a page and stretched, reaching out for her tea, the Colonel decided he had his opening.

"Jennifer," he grunted deeply, narrowing his eyes.

She paused mid-sip of tea, and peered at him over the small teacup, waiting expectantly.

"You sure your Chemistry exam went okay?"

She blinked.

"Yes," she said indignantly. "I was _there_."

"Well, now you're sittin' in my study on a Friday night, and that means everything ain't hunky dory," he growled at her.

She glared at him, rolling her eyes slightly, and took a sip of tea, shrugging her shoulders.

"I killed the AP Chem exam," she assured him. She arched a brow. "Which is less than I can say about the Euro exam—I mean I can bullshit a good essay, but the choices were so vague," she muttered to herself, drinking her tea again.

The Colonel cleared his throat and glared at her intently, thinking. He lifted his chin.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

"Can't a daughter just quietly hang out with an old Colonel?" she retorted, setting her cup down and going back to her book stubbornly.

"Jennifer, you haven't been home on a Friday night since I grounded you," he pointed out bluntly. "You're always with Gibbs. You two have a fight?"

"Why, Daddy, I had no idea you were so jealous. I can give you one night a week with Gibbs, if you'd like."

He raised his eyes to the heavens and glared. If nothing else, at least now he was almost one hundred percent sure there was something wrong, because she was ignoring the question. Which was distinctly not good, considering Gibbs was supposed to take Jenny to prom tomorrow, and if they were fighting, he might not risk pissing her off with the surprise.

"On second thought," Jenny began, clicking her tongue, "Jethro's schedule seems to be quite full lately, so don't get your hopes up."

"I don't have any damn hopes," Jasper said dryly, glaring at her—he had his answer from her tone, though; they must be fighting. He was silent a moment, and then leaned back in his chair. "Jenny," he demanded curtly.

She closed her book, using her fingers to mark the page. She tilted her head back very far, until she was looking at the Colonel upside down.

"I didn't know it was so bothersome for me to hang out with you," she growled at him.

"You're not even talkin' to me, you're sittin' there reading a book!" he retorted, gesturing at her haphazardly.

She raised her eyebrows and, upside down, her face looked comical.

"You're such a freakin' drama queen."

"Jennifer," he demanded, narrowing his eyes. He grit his teeth. "I'm tryin' to be there for you."

"You are _there_. You're literally sitting _right_ _there_."

He slammed his hand on the desk.

"I'm putting you up for adoption."

"I'm eighteen," she sniffed, and lifted her head, turning to her book. She opened it, sensed his annoyed glare still boring into the back of her head, and closed it again, sliding it over on the cushions and swinging her legs off the leather sofa. She turned, picked up her teacup, and shrugged.

"We're not fighting," she said simply, before she took a sip—but her tone was unconvincing.

Her father looked at her skeptically.

"Then you want to tell me why you aren't with him on the day he graduates sniper training school?" he asked sharply.

It nettled him a little bit—that was a big deal for Gibbs, and Jennifer should be proud of him, and out supporting him and treating him. He didn't like the idea of her not wanting to go, or sitting at home. Jenny lowered her teacup and then pushed her hair back, shrugging lightly. There was something suspicious about her face, like she was trying to look cool when she wasn't really in a good mood. Her father studied her, waiting for her to say something, and she licked her lips thoughtfully.

"He's with the guys," she said delicately, pausing for a moment to press her lips together and move her eyebrows lightly, "and I am trying to accept that is what he wanted to do."

Shepard sat forward, eyes narrowing.

"What the hell do you mean?" he asked gruffly.

Jenny looked over at him, her jaw tense.

"I wanted to take him to dinner," she said shortly, "and I wanted to bake his favorite dessert, and give him the gift I got him—I got him cufflinks custom made, they're shaped like the rifle he'll carry, and I got him a leather watch," she shook her head, as if that wasn't the point. "He said he'd made a deal with Vance and Fornell and Callan and some other guys he was in boot camp with that he'd go on a bar crawl with them if made it through."

The Colonel looked at her intently, and grunted.

"He didn't want you to go?" he asked suspiciously.

"He pointed out that it wouldn't be much fun for me, since I'm not old enough to drink," she said tartly. "Which I took to mean he'd rather it be just the guys." She stopped talking, and mulled it over, taking a quick, comforting sip of her tea. She cleared her throat. "He's a Marine, and being a sniper is a macho thing, and I don't care if he wants to hang out with his friends instead of me, you know, I don't own him," she said.

The Colonel still looked at her intently—that last bit sounded like she was trying to convince herself. He leaned back again, and braced his arm on the chair, perturbed. Gibbs was obnoxiously smitten with Shepard's daughter; the Colonel didn't think he'd blow her off for something this important—not when he'd almost given up the entire training course just to be with her during the arrest.

Jenny pushed her hair back and rubbed her nose, tilting her head. She stared at her tea, and snorted.

"I really don't mind, Dad," she muttered, almost to herself. "It's just—I told him we could do it tomorrow night, celebrate, and he said he already had plans—and he was distracted and weird about it, and I think he was lying."

The Colonel managed to keep as straight a face as possible—he didn't want Jenny to figure out that Gibbs' _plans_ were showing up and taking her to prom.

"He have a tell?" Jasper grunted.

Jenny was still for a moment, and then shook her head.

"No, it's more complex," she answered quietly. "He wasn't—lying, per se; there's something bothering him," she mused warily. "I know him really well," she said, reaching up subconsciously to brush her knuckles against her face. "I know how his jaw looks when he's being evasive."

The Colonel glared at her balefully and resisted the urge to roll his eyes massively and beat his head against the desk—the last thing he wanted was to hear his daughter start getting all starry-eyed about how well she knew her boyfriend. He didn't want to know anything about Jenny knowing anybody, particularly since he was starting to suspect there was biblical _knowing_ involved in their relationship these days.

He squinted at her suspiciously, his nostrils flared and propped his chin on his hand, watching her study her tea as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

"He did finish, Jennifer?" the Colonel asked. "Nothin' happened at the end that made him ineligible?"

She shook her head.

"He graduated, top of his class, like you said," she responded. She tapped her nail against the painted porcelain mug. Then, she tilted her head slowly and bit her lip hesitantly, meeting her father's eyes. "I don't want to be a girlfriend who throws a fit if he wants to hang out with the guys," she said in a small voice.

The Colonel scoffed.

"You've never manipulated him, Jennifer, he follows you around like a lovesick ninny of his own free will," he snorted wryly, remembering all the times he'd caught Gibbs just hanging around like a loon, not actually doing anything besides being in proximity to Jenny.

The thought annoyed him slightly, so he changed the subject.

"He hurt your feelings, Jenny," he pointed out bluntly. "You're pissed."

"He did not," she sniffed automatically, turning up her nose and setting her jaw. "It is not a feelings thing, Dad," she tried.

"Bull_shit_," the Colonel responded sharply. He gave her a look. "Why is it so important to you that no one know if your feelings are hurt?" he demanded—Jenny had always gotten defensive and mean the moment anyone showed signs of trying to comfort her when she was trying to act nonchalant.

She grit her teeth and glared at her father—she didn't answer, because she didn't think he'd get it; she didn't want to be the girl who moped because her boyfriend bailed on her for one fucking weekend. She didn't want to feel that attached to him or that—silly—except she did; because now she'd said she loved him, and she'd spent the week having sex with him at any opportunity, and the fact that he blew her off the weekend after her first time scared the shit out of her.

"My feelings are none of anyone's business," she growled.

"They're mine," he pointed out. "They're Gibbs'," he added, his expression darkening. "And if Corporal Taliban thinks your feelings aren't his business, then I will torture him until he has no ability to feel anything but my wrath."

Jenny rolled her eyes dramatically and grit her teeth.

"I don't see _you_ broadcasting your feelings," she snapped. "It's stoicism and composure, and I admire that."

The Colonel set his jaw firmly—well, if she was going to act like he'd taught her to shut people out and behave like a—a—robot, he'd show her _feelings_.

"Your mother hurt my feelings," he said abruptly. He cleared his throat, and held her gaze when she looked at him in shock. "She never tried as hard as I did, and then she hurt you, after all I did to make sure you were both taken care of, and then she left, and that pisses me off."

Jenny stared at him, her mouth parted. She hadn't expected—now she was blindsided by such an honest statement, and she felt manipulated into talking, and angry at her mother as usual—and she just kept staring at him, until he cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes, waiting for reciprocation.

"Divorce her, Daddy," Jenny said desperately. She shook her head, her eyes exasperated. "Make her sign away what she didn't want," she insisted. Jenny slammed her teacup down. "She still uses your medical coverage!"

It was something Jenny had discovered years ago—Kimberly Shepard had never bothered to get the paperwork for a divorce, but at some point she'd realized that meant she was still _Kimberly Shepard_, military dependent. The military didn't recognize complicated relationships, but they recognized marriages, and Jasper was _married_.

The Colonel shrugged and shook his head.

"I can't contact her," he said bluntly.

"_Why_?" demanded Jenny, looking ready to shake some sense into him—she knew, knew, that her father knew exactly how to get ahold of her mother if he ever needed to, and it was probably in case something fatal ever happened to Jenny—that would be something he'd go to Kimberly for if it killed him.

He shrugged again, and smirked dryly.

"Kimberly only ever had to smile, Little J," he said frankly.

Her first thought was that it was so pathetic of him to say that—to be so enthralled with a mere woman that way—but that thought quickly disappeared, not only because her father was the strongest man she knew, but also because he proved how smart and upstanding he was, that he knew he was addicted to Kimberly and taken with her, and yet he chose not to give in; instead he chose to resist whatever spell she had him under, and be the best he could be for Jenny.

She licked her lips, leaning back on the leather sofa and letting her head loll on the back. She looked over at him and sighed heavily, her muscles tight—she didn't want to talk about her mother, so she kept silent for a long time, and then she took a deep breath, and swallowed hard.

"He hurt my feelings," she said dully. "I wanted—him to want to be with me, and he was so," she tried to find a word, and frowned. "He seemed…_wary_ of me. He kept giving me one word answers—which is normal-ish, but the ratio of one words to my sentences was higher," she mused.

She ran her hands through her thick hair and bit the insides of her cheeks; steeling herself for a moment in case she made herself cry. She closed her eyes and groaned, frustrated with herself, mad at him—and hurt.

"Leave him alone, Daddy," she warned abruptly. "It's between me and him; I'll navigate it," she said shortly. She popped one eye open and gave him a withering look. "Don't go tearing him limb from limb."

The Colonel wasn't thinking that, though. He was looking at her without really seeing her, while the cogs in his mind turned, and things fell into place—Gibbs had finished training; there was a troop surge in process. Gibbs held Jenny at arms length all of a sudden; Gibbs was out drinking with fellow Marines.

Jasper rubbed his jaw tensely.

Jenny licked her lips.

"I'm going to take a bath," she muttered unhappily, and got up. She snatched her book off of the sofa, and held it to her chest, turning to her father. "You mind if Holly and Nina come get ready for Prom over here?" she asked. She rolled her eyes. "Holly wants to practice hair and make-up on me before she does Nina's—I think she's just mad I'm not going, and she's trying to make me see what I'm missing."

The Colonel, distracted a little, grunted and waved his hand in acquiescence. He blinked, narrowed his eyes, and looked at her sharply.

"You really don't want to go to Prom?" he asked skeptically.

She blinked and was silent for a split second—and he knew he'd been right; she had wanted to go all along, but she'd been too uncertain of asking Gibbs to escort her, and too proud to eat her words about how stupid it was.

She shrugged, and snorted.

"I'm sure Gibbs would rather hang out with the guys," she said testily, and then left the study, headed into the kitchen to brew some coffee for her bubble bath.

The Colonel leaned back heavily, and then grit his teeth and leaned forward, rubbing both hands over his face, trying to wipe the grim expression away to keep from giving his thoughts away to Jennifer—he didn't want her to panic, but it occurred to him with near certainty that Gibbs' behavior meant he'd gotten unsavory deployment orders.

* * *

It was loud and smoky and masculine in the bar, and that was exactly what Gibbs wanted. In the back of his mind, he felt guilty, and was pissed at himself, for brushing Jen off when she said she wanted to reward him for graduation—but he was trying to drink that away.

He had made this deal with the guys before he got accepted to school—but they'd all let him off the hook and assumed he'd want to take his girlfriend up on her offer. When he'd insisted they do the bar crawl, raucous bros night instead, Jackie had relentlessly demanded to know if he was fighting with Jenny—and then figured out they were sleeping together, and had immediately thrown a fit, because she thought he wasn't being sensitive enough to how Jen was feeling.

He ignored that, because he was positive Jenny didn't feel insecure or regretful about their newly initiated sex life, if the past week had been any indication—he'd denied everything to Jackie, and it had been Fornell who figured it out, because he'd come to get his Nintendo and seen the orders on the coffee table.

Gibbs toasted his glass against Vance and Callan's and knocked back another shot of whiskey, as the bar erupted in noise again—so many Marines were gathered around the table full of shot glasses, beer, and bar food, that it was impossible to keep quiet. He smirked and slammed the glass down, matching Callan for another shot while Vance struggled to keep up—he had a wife, so he had a curfew, and he couldn't in good faith go stumbling home half-conscious.

That kind of drunkenness wasn't something Gibbs was usually partial too, either, but he had been slapped with the deployment orders so suddenly—literally in conjunction with his sniper certification—that he still couldn't comprehend what was happening to him, much less begin to act normal around Jen—because he had no idea how he was going to tell her about this, or what it meant for them—

A roar went up from the table as Fornell leapt back, yanking one of the younger Marines away and shoving him towards the billiards table.

"Jesus, Vick, learn to hold your liquor," he shouted, slapping the guy on the back and steadying him—the kid has almost spilled all the alcohol on the table.

Vick coughed, flushed, and was laughed at mercilessly—but all in good fun. Vance leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head, breathing out smugly and shaking his head at the ceiling.

"Ah, to be young," he joked, and Callan elbowed him.

"You get a girl pregnant, and you think you're mature," he snorted.

Vance slapped his hand away roughly and tilted his chair back on two legs.

"She ain't just a girl, she's my wife," he said smugly. He held up his half empty beer and pointed at himself smugly. "You assholes should all buy me drinks, I'm such a stud I knocked 'er up _on birth control_."

Callan snorted and shoved Vance's chair, ensuring he crashed to the floor in an undignified heap. Gibbs snorted and leaned back in his own chair, mocking Vance's earlier position and taking a long sip of his beer.

"Someone say stud?" Fornell asked loudly, holding up his arms.

"Who fuckin' got him started?"

"Someone, do me a favor and sock Tobias in the jaw."

Fornell grinned and took his drink from the table, shooting them all smug looks—he always did embrace the fact that he was the whore of the group, never to be tied down by one woman for longer than one night. He was a loner in a group full of men who either had fairly serious girlfriends, or were married young and content with it.

Gibbs emptied his beer and slid it across the table, letting his chair fall to the floor. He got up, shouting over the din and asking if anyone needed anything else—a chorus of positive answers rang out—and he went to the bar to take care of it, so no poor waitress would have to deal with them again. He leaned over the edge of the scratched, worn wooden bar and waited on shots and beers and a Jack and coke or two, and he was starting to think about the deployment again, and Jen, when Vance slapped him on the back, grabbed his shoulders, and leaned over next to him, facing him bluntly.

"Where they sendin' you?" he asked abruptly.

Gibbs snorted and hung his head, looking at the bar for a moment before looking over at Leon. He turned his head sharply and glared at his friend, lifting his chin.

"Who told you?" he asked.

"Figured," Leon answered. Then he snorted. "Fornell," he confessed. "Guess he doesn't want all the attention on him," he added dryly—Fornell was giving every impression of soaking up the attention he was getting because of his fast-approaching deployment to Iraq, but those closer to him could tell he was getting more and more apprehensive about it.

Gibbs nodded, shrugging roughly.

"It's all gettin' fucked up," Vance said bluntly. "They're movin' us all around, just throwin' us in a box and shakin' it—guess since the troop surge is poaching manpower from bases. I got orders to transfer to Camp Lejeune, in six weeks."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes.

"Lejeune?" he asked curtly, tilting his head. "Not bad," he said slowly, rubbing his jaw. "Jackie know?"

"Yeah, she's goin' with me, of course," Leon said frankly. "She's just glad it's not a real deployment, y'know, 'cause of the baby—she and I decided she'd move around with me until the kid, or uh, kids, if we have more, are old enough for school, and then she's gonna move to the place she liked most and stay put."

Gibbs grunted, taken aback by how put together Leon's plan seemed. He snorted to himself, and picked up one of the shots he was supposed to take back to the table for the guys, and took it himself. Vance laughed, and shoved him roughly, shaking his head.

"Man, you better take it easy," he warned. "You get shitfaced, and Jackie's gonna be pissed if she's gotta sober you up for that prom tomorrow."

Gibbs shook his head, his mouth tightening.

"She doesn't even want to go," he muttered, wiping whiskey off of his lips with his sleeve. "Hell, she might be pissed I show up—"

"You listenin' to yourself?" Vance laughed. "Jenny's gonna think it's sweet," he promised, and then leaned over, his face falling a little. "Don't you let her down, Jethro," he said, warningly. "I like your girl."

"She doesn't even know I'm doin' anything!"

"Yeah, and if you don't show up 'cause you've got your panties in a wad over this deployment, the Colonel's gonna give it away, 'cause he'll hunt you down," Vance pointed out. He punched Gibbs insistently in the shoulder and narrowed his eyes. "You haven't told her yet?" he asked.

"Got the notice three days ago," Gibbs growled in answer, narrowing his eyes.

He rubbed his jaw again, his teeth clenched so tightly his head hurt—or maybe that was the bourbon and Corona really kicking in.

"Yeah, and you saw 'er yesterday."

Gibbs nodded, grunting in a non-committal way.

"Thought I was up for a rotation at Pendleton," he growled finally. "I didn't open the letter until she left Thursday night," he said roughly, shaking his head.

He started lining up drinks so Vance could help him carry them over, and Vance refused to take them until their conversation was finished.

"That's why you blew her off tonight?" he guessed.

"'M supposed to take her to her goddamn prom tomorrow," he barked. "I can't tell her they're sending me to the goddamn desert, it'll ruin her night."

Vance tried to grin.

"You sure 'bout that? Maybe she's sick of you," he joked—but it was an empty joke.

Gibbs rubbed his forehead stiffly, and looked at Vance for help.

"How'd you tell Jackie, when you went?" he demanded, exasperated. "How'd she take it?"

Vance swallowed, and shrugged.

"Hell, Leroy," he muttered. "Jackie 'n' I were engaged. I'd just proposed two weeks before I left—she was scared, but we didn't have nothin' to figure out, not like you 'n' Jenny," he pointed out.

"She take it badly?"

Vance shrugged again.

"She cried a little."

Gibbs groaned. He was afraid of that—and he was afraid he sounded like he was annoyed that Jen might cry, but that wasn't it at all. It was hard enough for him not to cry, considering where they were sending him, and he knew Jenny was going to be upset—Jesus Christ, she had _nightmares_ about him fighting, and she'd had to deal with her father risking his life for years.

He didn't want to do this to her. He didn't want to leave her, and he didn't want to fight halfway across the world knowing she was scared and worried and alone back home. He wanted to spend the summer with Jen, and not in the treacherous desert—it was the first time he'd felt conflicted about his love of the Marines. He groaned again and put his head in his hands. Vance clapped him on the back, and nudged him roughly, indicating that they should get back before the Marines got murderous and came hunting for their alcohol. He dragged Gibbs away from the bar, both of them balancing drinks in hand, and shrugged.

"You just do it, man," he advised. "Bite the bullet, tell 'er flat out, and see what she wants to do—you think she'll end it? That the problem?" he asked.

Gibbs shrugged. No—he hadn't been thinking Jen would end it, until Vance mentioned he had to figure out what to do, but he was suddenly completely insecure about how serious their relationship was; it was theoretically supposed to withstand her move to Pennsylvania, but was it the kind of romance that would withstand a deployment?

He grit his teeth until his jaw throbbed—she had said she loved him. She had only said it once, and he hadn't really made a big deal of it—but she _had_ said it. He was kicking himself now for clamming up when it came to expressing that sentiment, and for pushing her away tonight—if he made her think he wasn't in it for the long run, what was to stop her from being scared off by something this daunting?

He set his jaw, smothered the thoughts—he liked it better when he was just worried about getting shot—and slid drinks on the to table to thunderous shouts of excitement.

Callan called for a coin challenge, and Gibbs grinned. Vance slapped him on the back, and as the Marines got out the highest ranking coin in their position, Gibbs pulled Colonel Shepard's army coin from his picket and flicked it into the air, landing it in a shot class full of whiskey.

Vance threw his hand in the air and pretended to lasso them all up.

"You all owe the sniper a drink," he drawled wryly, "that's a damn Army Colonel's coin he's got!"

There was a collective, good-natured groan of defeat as men got up to make good on the bets, and Fornell grabbed Gibbs around the shoulders, smirking smugly and yanking the coin out of the whiskey with two fingers.

He smacked it into Gibbs' palm, and grinned.

"More'n the Army Colonel's coin he ended up with, eh, Gibbs?" he teased.

Gibbs forced himself to think of _Jenny_ and all the good about her, instead of the deployment, and relationship complications, and how starkly terrified he was of going over there, and grinned, taking the glass he'd flicked the coin into and holding it up.

"His daughter ain't bad," he drawled, and took the shot to quite a few wolf-whistles of agreement.

* * *

Jenny sat carefully on her bed in gym shorts, a faded t-shirt, and full hair and make-up—she was the product of Holly's Prom night practicing, and she had been ordered to be still and ladylike and not muss her hair or smear her make-up while Holly copied Jenny's look on to Nina.

"Holly," Nina griped, wincing as Holly brushed through her hair roughly. She was sitting in a chair in her underwear, arms folded unhappily across her chest. "I told you, I want my hair in a braided ballet bun."

"I'm blowing it out and curling it, like Jenny's."

"My hair is too _thick_, if you do that I'll look like—like—"

"A country music star," Jenny supplied.

Holly pulled a bobby pin from her mouth and flicked Nina in the back of the head, glaring down at her scalp.

"You think I'd style you poorly?" she demanded, offended. "I'm going to soften your curls and make 'em silkier—Jenny's hair is more voluminous because I tricked it into looking thicker."

Nina narrowed her eyes suspiciously and eyed Jenny, from impeccably curled, full hair to her dark, smoky eye-make-up and lined red lips.

"She looks nice," Nina relented, smirking wryly.

"Nice?" quoted Holly, snorting. She gestured at Jenny vaguely, concentrating on Nina's dark hair. "She's a masterpiece," Holly bragged, slipping bobby pins into her mouth again and beginning to straighten Nina's hair. Nina grinned at holly, and Jenny smirked, rolling her eyes good-naturedly.

She still thought it was silly that Holly had wanted to practice on her first—Holly was a genius when it came to hair and make-up. She figured since it was Nina's first and only prom, Holly wanted to get her perfect—but it still irked Jenny. She'd thought this wouldn't bother her, but something in the back of her mind was annoyed that tonight, she'd see Nina off to Prom with Fornell…and stay home and hang out with her dog.

She had been serious when she told Gibbs she didn't want to go, though she'd come around to the idea lately—not that she'd mentioned it to anyone. It wasn't even that she wanted to go to Prom; it was more that she didn't want to wish she hadn't missed it, if that made sense.

"What time is Mark getting here?" Jenny asked.

Holly glanced at the clock on Jenny's desk.

"In like, an hour? And Tobias is too, right?" she asked Nina.

"Mmm-hmm," Nina answered.

"The four of you are going to dinner at…?"

"Palena," Holly snorted. "You recommended it so highly," she added, inclining her head at Jenny. "And it's not four, it's eight—Kensi and her date are in our group, he's some engineering genius, freshman at Howard."

Jenny blinked at her. Nina glanced up at Holly oddly.

"That's six," Jenny pointed out—she pointed out a math mistake to Holly, of all people—the Good Will Hunting of the group.

Holly paused and frowned. She groaned, and spat bobby pins into her hand.

"Your hair is distracting me, Czarina," she growled accusingly.

Jenny still looked at her intently, arching her eyebrow. Holly ignored her, and then after a moment, let some more of Nina's hair fall to begin straightening a larger mass of it. She cleared her throat loudly and tossed her own hair—which she'd had done by a professional before coming over.

"I think you're going to regret that manicure, Jenny," Holly said, smirking as she glanced over.

Jenny held up her obnoxiously yellow nails and fluttered them lavishly, smiling like a Cheshire cat.

"Why?" she demanded.

"It's one of those things that seems like a cute idea, and then it blows up in your face."

"It's not like I have to worry about _matching_ a _dress,"_ Jenny remarked pointedly, studying Holly's face—she was beginning to think something was up.

Holly shrugged carelessly, shaking the rest of Nina's hair down and running a straightener over it.

"Will you turn that curling wand back on—Nina, I'm going to do something really cool with some braids and soft curls, you'll love it—you'll look like Anastasia."

"Before the bullet between her eyes, I assume?"

Holly pinched her.

"You shut the fuck up, Anastasia _escaped!"_

"No, the Bolsheviks murdered all of them," Nina spoiled blithely. "Would you like to know what Nicholas's last words were?"

Holly stomped her foot and swore at the brunette.

"Stop _ruining_ it for me!" she demanded, and Nina laughed, obediently closing her mouth and pretending to zip it shut.

"Rasputin wasn't a sorcerer, either—he was beloved by the family, and the only person Alexandra trusted," Nina added after a moment.

"You know, you little Ruskie bitch, I'm in control of your hair," Holly threatened, holding the rubber tip of her curling iron to Nina's hair like a gun. "I'll hold your hairstyle hostage if you don't stop shitting on my favorite movie."

"Lips: sealed," Nina promised, this time truly committing to it. She shared a wry smile with Jenny, and the redhead tilted her head back, looking interestedly at the ceiling.

She was still smarting over Gibbs' behavior—and it was a little more irritating today because she hadn't heard from him at all since she left his apartment Thursday night. He hadn't called or stopped by—which concerned her, considering he'd gone on a bar crawl last night.

"What are you guys doing after Prom?" Jenny asked. The school usually had several options, and groups of people elected to run around the city if parents permitted.

"We all decided to do our own thing," Holly said. "Mark and I are going to do what we always do, which is go to Rock Creek Park and drink beer out of water bottles and have sex in his car," she explained sweetly.

"I have a midnight curfew," Nina said. "Tobias is taking me home."

"Don't accidentally have sex with him," Holly advised.

"I'll try really hard," Nina answered seriously. "You know, Prom night clichés and the overwhelming temptation to be a statistic," she said dryly. "I'm worried he might trip and fall into my vagina, so I bought a chastity belt."

"That's why Jenny doesn't want to go," Holly snorted, her fingers moving quickly as she braided Nina's hair. She laughed. "She's so hot for Gibbs anything'll set her off, and she'd die if she lost it on Prom night."

"If she was that hot for him, she'd have slept with him," Nina said logically.

Jenny arched her eyebrow.

"I am right here," she announced.

Nina smirked at her, and Holly cocked an eyebrow. Jenny lifted her nose snootily, trying not to crack a smile at Holly's comment.

"I couldn't lose it on Prom night," she sniffed primly.

"Oohh, Miss Priss is too good for a little hot and heavy hook-up in a Mustang's backseat," she teased good-naturedly.

Jenny shook her head, licking her lip. She glanced at her door swiftly, and then looked back at her friends, catching Holly's eye. Holly immediately fumbled Nina's hair, her hands slowing as she stared at Jenny.

"Wait," Holly said slowly, narrowing her eyes. "You _couldn't_ lose it on Prom night or you _wouldn't_—wait!" Holly hissed, stomping her foot. "Did you-? Are you not-? _Did_ you lose it already?" she asked indelicately, lowering her voice.

Jenny kept her expression guarded, and decided quite comfortably that she wanted to talk to her friends about it.

She smirked.

"I didn't lose it; I know exactly where it is," she retorted smartly.

Nina smiled at her, wrinkling her nose wryly, and Holly looked caught somewhere between laughing, shrieking hysterically, and crying. She settled for shoving the braid she was working on into Nina's hands and flinging herself at Jenny for a quick hug. She darted back to Nina quickly, and bit her lip.

"Where?" she asked cheekily, humoring Jenny.

The redhead took a deep breath, and then tried not to burst into laughter, and covered her face with her hands. She peeked through her fingers at Holly and Nina.

"Jethro has it," she admitted.

Holly beamed at her, and Jenny closed her eyes a moment. She slipped her hands towards her hair, then remembered it was fixed and pretty and hair sprayed, and instead pulled her knees up and ran her palms over them, chewing on her lip. She took a deep breath.

"I don't like the word _lost_, though," she said seriously. "I don't feel like I _lost_ anything."

"That's nonsensical terminology," Nina pointed out breezily. "It's meant to make a woman feel as if she's subjugating herself to a man if she sleeps with him—"

"Excuse me, Gloria Steinem, we're talking about sex, not Feminism," Holly interrupted loudly.

"Sex and feminism are closely intertwined issues—"

"Nina!" Jenny cried, laughing—and the sparkle in Nina's eye told her Nina was kidding, in a way—of course she was serious about her opinion, but she was just goading Holly into frustration over the lack of actual juicy gossip.

Holly took a moment to calm down, and went back to Nina's hair, eyeing Jenny slightly anxiously, as if she were afraid to ask. Jenny sat forward a little, resting her chin on her knees, trying to look open to the possibility—after all, Holly did have some experience, and even if she was comfortable discussing sex with Gibbs, she still needed girlfriends for a reason.

Holly raised her eyebrows curiously.

"When did you two-?"

Jenny shrugged a little, and Holly laughed at her, shaking her head.

"Don't give me that, Jennifer Shepard, you memorized the exact date and time, you _would_."

"Sunday, May eleventh, at nine…twenty?...in the morning," Jenny obliged.

Nina raised her eyes to the heavens, looking bemused. Holly giggled, and Jenny's cheeks flushed. She licked her lips and then compressed them. It felt weird to say it out loud, because it reminded her that was only six days ago—and she'd had a lot of sex since then.

Holly kept looking at her, apparently wary of pushing her too far, and Jenny was surprised that Nina asked the next question.

"How was it?" she asked neutrally.

Jenny cocked her head, chewing on her lip. She furrowed her brows, considering how to describe it. She perked up a little and licked her lips.

"You know—when you don't wear earrings for a long time, and you have to work the hole back through?" she started earnestly, choosing her words carefully. "Well, ah, it's—like that, where you know it fits, and you know you can get it in, but it takes a minute, and it's uncomfortable—but it doesn't really hurt," she finished slowly.

Nina set her shoulders back, nodding thoughtfully at the answer.

Holly gave Jenny a murderous glare, shifting so she was behind Nina, and glaring at the redhead.

"Fuck," she swore at her. "What the hell, Jenny—that was the most kid-friendly explanation—I know what it's like to get a penis into a vagina."

"She doesn't!" Jenny said, gesturing at Nina indignantly.

"God, at least tell me he's bigger than an earring."

"_Oh_, yeah."

Holly looked up and mouthed a prayer, as if relieved Jenny was cooperating. She eyed Nina's hair for a moment, and started to draw it all together, weaving her fingers quickly—almost magically.

"Was it _good_?" Holly asked emphatically. "Ah, well," she amended. "Eh, the first time," she reflected, shrugging. "Okay; scrap the word good—"

"No," Jenny interrupted seriously. She blinked slowly, and swallowed. "It—it _was_ good," she said. "It wasn't a flawless, spectacular, cinematic event with multiple orgasms or anything, but it was nice," she paused, biting her lip. She pulled her shoulders close to her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees. "He was really careful—it only hurt, like, once, and he felt bad, but I think it was hard for him to take it so slow."

Holly nodded. She blew some loose hairs out of her face, concentrating on Nina for a moment. She smirked, looking back at Jenny.

"I'm glad he didn't hurt you," she said. "Ugh, I'm jealous—it's super cute that Mark was my first and I was his, but he had no idea what he was doing and damn, it hurt like a motherfucker, like that time I had to dig around for that tampon that I lost the string to."

"_Lovely_," Nina groaned, rolling her eyes.

Holly shrugged.

Jenny touched the edges of her hair, distracted by her yellow nails for a moment.

"It was awkward and tense the first time, and then the second was still that way, because we got in the shower, and it's actually not easy at all to fuck in the shower, and he literally slipped and almost murdered me, but that _angle_ was kind of easier on me—but the third time was basically the best thing that's ever happened to me ever," she said seriously, smirking. "He went down on me, and I had another—"

Holly held up her hand, and Jenny stopped talking.

"You had sex three times?"

Jenny blinked.

"I—I've had sex with him every day since Sunday," she said, confused—why would the amount of times matter? "Well, except Friday. And today, but," she trailed off.

"No, well, duh, yeah, when you first do it, you wanna fuck like rabbits—no, I mean, after your first time—you had sex two _more_ times?"

Jenny blinked again. She straightened up a little, catching Nina's eye. Nina shrugged, seemingly unfazed by the discovery. She glanced up at Holly, and Holly forced her head back into the proper position, still looking at Jenny with something akin to admiration.

"My pussy was throbbing after Mark and I did it—and like, not in the good way—"

"Okay, was it _seriously_ necessary to use _throbbing_ and _pussy_ in the same sentence?" Nina asked primly.

"Yes," Holly retorted emphatically. She arched a brow at Jenny. "You weren't sore at all?"

Jenny shrugged slowly.

"I—I told you, he was really gentle," she murmured, blushing. "And, you know, he didn't just thrust in, there was foreplay and—Holly," Jenny said, rolling her eyes, "I've had my own fingers up there, too, it wasn't _totally_ untouched territory."

"I fuck myself, too, Jenny," Holly said frankly, "but a dick's bigger than a finger."

Jenny looked taken aback.

"You only use one finger?"

Holly raised both eyebrows. She compressed her lips and then laughed outright.

"Damn, and all this time I thought you were the amateur," she teased, turning to finish up Nina's hair. "Like I said, though—seriously, Jenny, I'm glad it was good," she said sincerely.

Jenny smiled, and pressed her lips to her bare knees. Nina smiled at her, patiently allowing Holly to finish up her hair, and adjusted one of the straps on her nude-and-white lace bra—it would fit perfectly under her pale pink vintage dress.

"I felt so close to him," Jenny mumbled, tilting her head at Nina. "I have this constant feeling like I just want to be with him," she mused. "I'm happy I had sex with him, but there's this totally irrational paranoia that now the game's over, and he'll lose interest."

"You're not a game to Gibbs," Holly snorted astutely. "Are you gonna fuck him tonight?" she asked blithely.

Jenny tossed her hair.

"Maybe just a blowjob."

Holly giggled, and Jenny lowered her eyes to Nina's, a slightly insecure look still on her face. Holly patted Nina's shoulder, and picked up her phone. She scrolled through some messages, while Jenny frowned, and Nina leaned forward slightly, reaching out to her.

"Jenny, if all Gibbs wanted was sex, he'd have found some other woman ages ago," Nina said blithely. "You know he deserves more credit than that."

"I know," Jenny said softly. "He just…he acted so weird Thursday night," she reminded them—she'd told them about it on Friday.

Holly put her phone on the desk loudly and smiled, her face lighting up. She put a hand on her hip and marched to the bed, grabbing Jenny's hand and yanking her off the bed. She opened the bedroom door and pulled Jenny into the hall.

"That's because he's shit at keeping secrets," she placated, and dragged the redhead to the bannister.

Pushed against it roughly, Jenny caught herself before it could knock the wind out of her, and looked down into the hall, her stomach flipping suddenly. She sucked in her breath—and then she saw him, leaning against the stained glass door, talking gruffly with Mark and Fornell—dressed to the nines in his Marine ASUs.

He looked up at her, and she bit her lip, resisting the urge to squeal.

He smirked at her, and saluted smugly.

"Hey, Miss, you want to go to Prom?" he asked gallantly.

She jumped up, a smile breaking over her face. She swallowed her pride, and nodded—she hadn't known, until this moment, how much she did regret turning him down when he offered—because she wanted so badly for him to escort her through the Watergate Hotel in that uniform.

He looked her over seriously.

"You better get that damn dress on."

* * *

The Colonel watched from the kitchen as Jenny peered over the bannister. He smiled to see the look on her face when she saw her boyfriend leaning against the door, ready to escort her to the senior prom. He was proud of himself for knowing she wanted to go, and making sure Gibbs made it happen. He hadn't interfered with her getting ready, or the guys milling around near the landing of the stairs, but when Jenny darted back to her room, squealing, to put her dress on, he stepped out of the kitchen, cleared his throat, and pointed at Gibbs.

"Study," he ordered gruffly.

Fornell, Mark, and the boy who had just arrived with Kensi Blye—Kensi ran upstairs to see the girls—fell silent and watched as Gibbs stopped smirking, pushed off the door immediately, and followed the Colonel into the study.

In an ominous, unprecedented move, the Colonel shut the door, and Gibbs immediately felt wary.

Shepard walked around his desk and stood behind it, bracing his hands on the surface. He sighed harshly, and studied Gibbs for a long time. He reached up, rubbed his jaw, and cleared his throat.

"Where are the Marines sending you, son?" he asked.

The question was so blunt, and so abrupt—and it was said in the commanding voice the Colonel probably used on the battlefield to get a straight answer immediately—that Gibbs hardly had a second to process what he'd been asked before he straightened up and answered.

"Afghanistan."

The word seemed to suck the air out of the room, until the Colonel let out a slow breath and leaned over the desk again. He hung his head, his jaw tight, muttering swears under his breath, and then he looked up at Gibbs again. His eyes narrowed guardedly, and he studied the young Corporal in front of him heavily.

"Kandahar?"

"Helmand Province, sir," Gibbs corrected.

"Camp Dwyer, or Sangin District?"

Gibbs was silent for a moment.

"Dwyer," he answered grudgingly.

The Colonel swore under his breath again—it figured; Gibbs was a newly minted Marine Corps sniper with a damn near flawless record; they'd need a man like him in the most dangerous base in the whole fucking expanse of Afghanistan.

The two men looked at each other.

"How'd you know?" Gibbs asked gruffly.

The Colonel smiled grimly.

"I've been where you are," he said roughly. "Get the orders, don't know how to tell the girl, forget to focus on her," he listed. "You hurt my daughter's feelings last night, son," he said dryly. "You'd think I'd be ready to rip you a new one," he said, and shrugged. "I can't. I know."

Gibbs nodded slowly. His gut churned—he didn't like hearing that Jenny had been upset enough to tell her father about him blowing her off last night.

"You gonna tell her?"

Gibbs gave him a look.

_"You've_ got to tell her, Gibbs."

"Not like I'm gonna disappear and leave 'er a note, sir," he retorted sarcastically. He stiffened a little—he didn't want the Colonel giving him a lecture about this; he was trying to figure out how to do it himself; he didn't need the outside pressure.

The Colonel ignored the sass, and held Gibbs' gaze.

"When do you ship out?"

Gibbs forced himself not to flinch.

"June," he said dully.

That surprised the Colonel. He stared at him, and then swore again—the swearing was starting to annoy Gibbs; Shepard wasn't the one would should be swearing up a storm. He wasn't the one being kicked into a war zone in approximately three and a half weeks.

He stood staring at his daughter's boyfriend, and grunted tensely.

"When are you going to tell her?" he asked.

Gibbs looked directly over the Colonel's shoulder, his jaw tight.

"I don't know," he admitted finally. He hesitated. "She has exams comin' up," he said bitterly. "Two teachers are givin 'em, even though she had APs," he growled.

Shepard nodded. He respected that Gibbs didn't want to ruin her chances at acing her finals, but this was something Jenny needed to be prepped for with as much notice as possible—thought it wasn't Gibbs' fault he was being deployed this swiftly.

"You tell her as soon as you can, Gibbs," the Colonel ordered. He rubbed his jaw, and straightened up. "She's not ready for it."

Gibbs swallowed—_he_ wasn't ready for it.

Shepard hesitated.

"Don't tell 'er tonight," he said sharply. "Don't—ruin her Prom."

Gibbs straightened purposefully.

"Sir," he said bluntly. "I already made a promise to myself to make this the best night of her life."

He sure as hell wasn't going to drop a bombshell on her.

The Colonel nodded, and came around the desk. He put out his hand for Gibbs to shake, and Gibbs did so—firmly, and with confidence.

He met the Colonel's eyes and, in a moment of weakness, blurted out:

"Jasper…_how_ do I tell her?'

The Colonel clapped him on the back and squeezed, his jaw tight. His voice was hollow when he spoke.

"I can't help you there, son," he said shortly. "But it ain't ever easy, and it doesn't ever go how you planned it."

* * *

Prom was everything she thought it would be: gaudy, overdramatic, narcissistic, and overrated—and she enjoyed it anyway.

They lingered so long at dinner—the older guys had drinks—that by the time they arrived at the ballroom of the Watergate Hotel, Prom had been in full swing for two and a half hours. She was there long enough to get one little cup of poorly mixed punch, laugh at the appalling dancing techniques of the freshman girls who'd been invited by lecherous seniors—she persuaded Gibbs to dance with her to one slow song, and it made her feel ridiculous, because so many girls were staring at him. He was drawing so much attention in those dress blues—the whole event was obnoxious and absurd and loud and fun, and once Holly was crowned Prom Queen and the seniors were given the floor for a final dance—Jenny and Gibbs parted ways with the group and left.

It was warm outside, but the air wasn't humid—her hair had held up nicely, and she knew her red dress looked fantastic next to Gibbs' uniform. She caught his hand and stopped under a street lamp at an intersection, arching her brows.

"Coffee?" he offered.

She nodded, and touched the ribbons on his uniform.

"The Capitol building," she suggested quietly. "The monuments will be crowded with girls taking prom pictures."

He nodded in agreement, and when they had their coffee and had made it from the little shop to the sprawling West Lawn of the Capitol building, she perched on the cement surrounding a decorative pond and looked around her.

"It's almost _June_," she mused, awestruck.

He did his best to ignore her words—he didn't want to think about June; he'd been so good at completely blocking all of those thoughts and all of that stress this evening. It was so late now, and they had no curfews and nowhere to be, and he didn't want to lose his constructed cool.

"It's almost been a year, Jethro," she said, reaching down to flick the pond water, and then looking up at him. Lights bounced off the water, flickered in her red hair, and sparkled in her eyes. She pursed her lips. "Do we have an anniversary?" she asked, and laughed, her lashes fluttering. "Is it June—July Fourth, September? Or the day you asked me to go steady?" she teased. "October…something."

"Tenth," he grunted, and then shrugged. "Pick a day."

She wrinkled her nose cutely.

"I like the Fourth of July, Jethro, I'm a patriot," she said, maneuvering her arm into a muscular pose and then giving him a mean look, mimicking Rosie the Riveter. "That's the first time you kissed me," she pointed out.

She sat up, shifted, and pointed over the lawn.

"Right—over—there," she said, squinting.

He sat down next to her, touched her jaw, and kissed her, as intently and deeply as he'd ever kissed her, and she smiled, reaching up to run her fingers over his wrist and feel his pulse as she kissed him back. He pulled away when he needed air, and nudged her cheek with his nose.

"You look good," he said huskily, his eyes half-closed. His hand ran over the fabric of her red dress, massaging her knee through the thin, expensive material. She bit her lip, and smiled—_good_. He never said gorgeous, or beautiful, or sexy—he didn't like pomp and circumstance in his vocabulary—but when he said _good_, he made it sound like a word made up of all the others.

She leaned in to kiss him again, and then squeezed his knee.

"Hand me my clutch," she asked, tapping his chest.

He reached into his chest pocket and handed her the small black clutch purse he'd been keeping for her—she opened it, and inside he caught a glimpse of her military I.D., lipstick, the perfume he'd bought her—and, she was pulling something out, closing the clutch, and handing it back to him.

She moved closer, and reached for his hand, setting a small box on his knee, and taking his arm.

"I bought these for you," she said softly, "for graduating top of your class." She fastened the patent leather watch on his wrist securely and ran her hand over it—he only had an old pocket watch to carry with him, and it was old and too fragile. She'd gotten him this one because it was durable and handsome.

He whistled softly, admiring the wristwatch. She opened the box on his knee, and showed him the cufflinks shaped like sniper rifles. She blushed a little, and fastened those on him next to the gold buttons on his uniform.

He didn't say much, just leaned in and kissed her again.

She put her hands on his shoulder, and curled closer to him.

"You didn't have to take me to Prom," she murmured.

"You try tellin' the Colonel that," he retorted huskily.

She laughed quietly, an attractive noise in the back of her throat, and licked her lips. He grinned.

"You think I'd miss seein' you in this dress?" he asked, pressing a kiss to her neck.

She laughed again, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. She reached into his pocket for her cell phone, and opened up the music application, scrolling through lazily.

"The music," she murmured, shaking her head. "That DJ had no inkling of what a good slow dance song is."

Gibbs grunted quietly.

"You do," he guessed.

She pressed play, and soft music emanated from her iPhone—he listened intently, and recognized one of her favorite songs; _The Way You Look Tonight_—the slow, mellow Tony Bennett version, a break from her beloved Sinatra. She smiled at him, glancing around them at the scenery again, and he made a show of rolling his eyes. He stood, and took her hand—and he didn't say anything, because offering to slow dance with her on the lawn of the U.S. Capitol was enough gallantry to last him a lifetime.

She accepted his offer, and put her arms around him staying close so she could hear the music.

He pushed her hair back.

"Suppose I make you dance with me at every monument," she said in a low voice.

"One of 'em better be a striptease," he growled, his lips close to her jaw.

She laughed softly, and laid her head against his chest, swaying to the music. He lowered his hand on her back, pulling her closer—and he looked up, his eyes lingering for a moment on the watch around his wrist, and the cufflinks pinned to him—

_Sniper rifles. _

His chest hurt.

He danced with her in the middle of the night on the Capitol lawn, breathing her in, taking pleasure in the warmth of her body against him, of her breath on his neck—and in spite of all of his efforts to stifle the thoughts until tomorrow—the only thing he running through his mind was—

_How am I going to tell her?_

* * *

_*mad cackles*_

_-feedbaaaack!_

_-alexandra_

_*Nicholas Romanov's last words were "What?What?", directly after he'd been told his family would be executed. He was shot in the head as he turned to protect them. Maria Romanov was actually the missing sister, and Anastasia died with the family in Yekaterinburg. _


	21. The Godfather

_A/N: It's all fun and games until somebody gets deployed. /smirks/. Ah, but again, this is one of those chapters where the final scenes were written long before I actually started the story (a.k.a I wrote parts of this when I was still dragging my feet with Mishpokhe)._

* * *

_Chapter Nineteen_

_The Godfather_

* * *

Jenny moseyed out of the kitchen with a spatula covered in chocolate brownie batter, cupping her hand to make sure it didn't drip as she wandered towards the study. She tossed her hair back so it fell down her back and leaned in the doorway, sticking her tongue to the spatula blithely.

"Daddy," she began, tilting her head to the side.

He glanced up at her and narrowed his eyes. He tapped his pen on his desk.

"Yes, Jennifer?" he asked finally.

"How eighteen am I?" she asked, blinking slowly.

He glared at her.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

She smiled and lowered the spatula a little.

"Well, legally, I am an adult," she said logically, "however, since you will be funding my college education and feeding me and allowing me to live here for the next four years, it would be wrong of me to completely disregard your wishes."

Her father squinted at her suspiciously.

"Affirmative," he agreed gruffly.

"But you've nixed my curfew, you've quit asking me exactly what my plans with Gibbs are, and you hardly ever ambush him and demand to know if he's pressuring me," she pointed out, and then glared mildly at him, "except for that incident last week."

"That's not what I was on to him about," the Colonel said tensely. He was telling the truth—he'd dragged Gibbs into the study to tell him, _again_, that he needed to 'fess up to Jenny about the deployment.

"Mm-hmm," Jenny muttered skeptically, her cheeks flushing a little. She didn't say anything else, and the Colonel cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"What do you want?" he asked, exasperated, and then his face changed. He straightened up. "Jennifer, do not tell me you want to go to Beach Week," he growled warily. "It doesn't matter how much I trust you or how much I turned you loose on your eighteenth birthday, that little tradition is a festering cesspool of idiocy, alcohol poisoning, and rape."

Jenny licked off some more brownie batter and shook her head, looking appalled.

"I don't want to go to Beach Week," she said, shaking her head emphatically—Holly was going, and begging Jenny to go—there was absolutely no way Nina's parents would allow it—but regardless of how much she'd loosened up over the past year, Jenny refused to put herself in the volatile nightmare that was Beach Week.

She pointed her spatula at her father.

"That bit about me being turned loose, that's what I'm getting at," she said, and shifted her feet, crossing her ankles. "You're letting me make my own decisions because I'm eighteen, but at what point does it cross a line, since I'm still living here and you still support me?"

The Colonel leaned back in his chair. He studied her intently, and then narrowed his eyes, rubbing his jaw.

"Why don't you just tell me what you want?" he suggested shortly. He didn't want to deal with semantics and mind games from her. He shrugged his shoulders roughly. "It depends, Jenny; you want to shut the bedroom door when Gibbs is here, fine; you want to move in with him for the summer, I'll put my foot down."

She laughed, looking taken aback.

"I can't live with him," she snorted, smirking a little. "Not until he learns that socks aren't oven mitts."

The Colonel stared at her warily, and she cleared her throat, putting the spatula back to her lips for a moment. She looked back at him, and then set her shoulders back.

"I was wondering how you'd feel if I went on a vacation with just him, after graduation," she said bravely. "I want to go to the beach, but not the—ah, _festering cesspool_," she quoted. "I was thinking of going up to Cape May in Jersey, after the parties die down, for like four days."

Her father looked at her with a blank expression that she found impossible to decipher. He said nothing; his face didn't move—except perhaps his eyes darkened slightly—and she waited a moment before swallowing, and filling the silence.

"I didn't know if that was something I could just do, or if I needed permission," she went on, slightly hesitant. "It's not that far away—it's a little closer than Stillwater, and we've been dating so long now—you know, honestly, I'll see if Jackie and Leon want to go, or Holly and Mark…I just want a graduation trip," she paused, and shrugged. "I mean I figure you can go, if you—"

Her father held up his hand, stopping her. He considered her a moment, and then snorted.

"I'm not goin' to Jersey to lay on a beach with you and your boyfriend," he said, scrapping that idea—his loud silence had nothing to do with reluctance to let her go, or a need to chaperone her—she was right; they had been together a long time now, and as much as it irked him, and made him uncomfortable, that Jenny might be sleeping with Gibbs, he wasn't going to ask, and he wasn't going to pretend like it was his business to guard her chastity. Not anymore, at least, since there were no legal ramifications to fear.

She laughed, sticking the spatula in her mouth to have something to do and falling silent, waiting patiently—earnestly.

The Colonel cleared his throat and looked at her narrowly.

"Was this little excursion Gibbs' idea?" he asked sharply. There was something threatening in his voice, and she was taken aback; he hadn't even had a hint of hostility towards Gibbs in months now.

Shepard waited for an answer, forcing himself to keep his cool—he knew Jenny was still ignorant of the deployment, or she wouldn't be so collected and carefree—she'd be worrying herself to death, or shutting down, or something. The Colonel knew his daughter well, and that meant he knew when she hadn't been made privy to bad news. If he found out Gibbs was acting like he wouldn't be in the goddamn Middle East after Jenny's graduation—

"Nah, I haven't talked to him yet," she said breezily, licking her lips. "I wanted to clear the idea with you first."

The Colonel set his jaw. A muscle in his jaw twitched—he was so angry for a moment he couldn't speak. June was coming up fast—Jenny's last week of classes was this week—and she needed more than a split second to prepare for the shock that was about to hit her. It didn't sit well with him that Gibbs was pushing it off; he'd tried to give him some leeway and be sympathetic over the boy's stress and confusion, but it was getting out of hand.

Jenny was planning vacations. She was completely in the dark.

It took everything Shepard had not to blow the whole thing wide open right there—but that was not his place; he absolutely could not get in the middle of her relationship without having any idea of how they worked. She'd get mad at him, she'd get mad at Gibbs, and if it ended in disaster, there'd be irreparable damage between himself and Jenny—and Jenny was his whole life.

Instead of blabbing, he nodded his head sharply and threw his hand into the air.

"Yeah," he said gruffly, shrugging curtly. "I'm fine with it," he told her, snorting derisively. "You go ahead and plan that with 'im."

Jenny paused, her brownie covered spatula frozen in her hand, and stared at him warily. She swallowed and straightened up, tilting her head.

"Dad-?" she started.

He set his jaw in a slightly annoyed way and smiled tightly.

"It's fine, Jennifer."

"Okay—well, it sounds like a situation—Dad, you sound like a passive-aggressive sitcom wife right now, like, 'oh it's fine' but really you expect me not to make plans—"

He held up his hand again, and then rubbed his jaw.

He looked at her intently.

"Is he still actin' weird?" he demanded.

She shrugged, taken aback. She looked at her father critically for a moment, feeling defensive.

"No," she said roughly. She frowned. "He's tense, but he's treating me fine," she added. "He's dealing with something personal; he'll talk about it when he's ready."

The Colonel made a skeptical noise, and Jenny narrowed her eyes.

"You know something I _don't_?" she demanded sarcastically. Before he could answer, she shook her head and chewed on her lip, indicating he shouldn't answer. She didn't want to admit that she'd started to think Gibbs was acting weird because she'd said _I love you_—even though that had happened weeks ago, and she hadn't mentioned it, she was wary it was sinking in that she felt that way, and she wondered if he was freaked out trying to decide if he should say it back.

She was still pissed at herself for saying it, on that note.

"Did you and Jethro have some sort of tiff unbeknownst to me?" Jenny asked curtly.

"No," the Colonel said abruptly, his face guarded. He gave her an unreadable look, and lifted his chin. "You talk to him about that vacation, Jen," he advised pointedly.

She put her hand on her hip gingerly, the spatula sticking out at an odd angle. His tone was making her suspicious, and she narrowed her eyes, chewing her bottom lip tightly, not yet ready to back down from the slightly weird conversation—but the doorbell rang three times, and Ike went howling down the stairs.

"What the hell?" the Colonel growled, half-standing, annoyed.

Jenny turned around, and walked towards the door. She reached for the handle, squinting through the glass, just as the doorbell rang again, and Ike snatched the chocolate covered spatula from her hand, and she swore, wrenching open the front door.

"_Holly_," she hissed, trying to mitigate the situation—her father _hated_ their old doorbell; he was going to shout at Holly if she didn't stop. Jenny was about to tell her to knock it off, when she noticed Holly looked like she was barely keeping it together. And then she remembered—Holly didn't usually ring the doorbell; she always knocked in a cute pattern. "Holly?" Jenny asked, her tone softening.

Holly reached up shakily and rubbed her cheek, sucking in her breath.

"We broke up," she managed bravely, taking a deep breath. "Jenny—Mark broke up with me," she whispered.

Jenny's face fell—she completely forgot about the tense confrontation, and about whatever Gibbs had done to piss the Colonel off. She reached out, put her arms around Holly's shoulder, and pulled her into the house—she was so relieved she had a bowl full of brownie mix waiting in the kitchen.

* * *

She didn't bother baking the brownies; she took the bowl of gooey batter, Ike, and a bottle of Advil upstairs—Holly just _looked_ like her head was killing her—and shut herself in her room with her friend, locking the door securely. Holly was always so jubilant and exhilarated that it was upsetting to see her so dejected, and when she was safe behind the closed door of Jenny's bedroom, she burst into tears.

She collapsed in Jenny's window seat, and Jenny handed her the brownie batter sympathetically, just remaining silent and supportive for a moment. She sat down on the floor, leaning against her bed, and snuggling Ike when he lie down and put his loveable head in her lap. She waited for Holly to catch her breath, and then she cleared her throat.

"You want me to call Nina?" she asked gently.

Holly shook her head, taking a deep breath.

"No," she said, her voice wavering badly. "I—I wanted to tell you guys separately; both of you together overwhelm me…and I—I need you right now, Jenny. I know you've never been through a break-up but you—you have a boyfriend, so you understand," she choked on her words, and swallowed. "You understand some things Nina doesn't."

"Nina would theoretically understand them," Jenny said, cracking smile.

Holly laughed hoarsely.

"This is so real, though," she said, and her face fell again. Her eyes closed tightly, and she lowered her head, hiding behind her hair, looking as if she were about to face plant in the brownie bowl. She made a pained, hiccupping noise, and Jenny looked down at Ike, frowning weakly.

She didn't quite know what to do. Holly and Mark had been together so long—

"Holly," Jenny began cautiously. "What—happened?" she asked gently. "I know you were planning on separating before college—"

"We _were_," Holly burst out, lifting her head. She blinked rapidly, tears spilling down her cheeks. "We _discussed_ that; we agreed on it," she said earnestly. "He—he changed his mind!"

"Without any indication?" Jenny probed. "Did something happen—maybe at Prom?"

"No," Holly cried softly. "No, Prom was _perfect_. I was the fucking Prom queen, it was a fairytale night," she managed, shaking her head and leaning back. Her head fell heavily against the wall. She closed her eyes again, tears dripping from the corners of her eyes.

"What happened?" Jenny patiently asked again.

Holly pushed her hair back, and dipped her finger in the chocolate treat. She sucked on it sadly, and then took a deep breath and clutched the bowl, removing her finger from her mouth.

"We broke up last night," she admitted. "I—it didn't sink in until this morning, and then I thought if I stayed in bed it would go away…I only got up to come to you," she explained. She licked her lips and took another deep breath. "We were at my house, waiting for a late night game of laser tag and he just…he started talking, he said he'd been thinking," she broke off, swiping at her face. She was silent for a moment, and then she grit her teeth. "He said he didn't want to spend the summer with me if we were just going to break up," she choked out. "He said it didn't make sense for us to wait, and then have to deal with the emotional fall-out on top of adjusting to new schools."

Jenny nodded slowly, listening attentively to Holly. She scratched her dog's ears rhythmically, and Ike thumped his tail gently, as if he was aware that there wasn't much happiness in the room.

"He didn't even bring up that point when you guys-?"

"I think he tried, but I didn't listen to him, I just _bubbled_ on with my own plans," Holly interrupted, bursting into tears again. "He _hates_ it when I do that—I talk over him so much," she cried regretfully.

She hugged the bowl closer and drew her legs up, shaking her head.

"It's so frustrating because—because I get what he's saying, Jenny, it makes sense—I didn't even think about how hard it would be to break up with my long-term boyfriend and then move all the way across the country—I mean those are major life changes, even possibly devastating ones, and I didn't think…but I didn't think it would _hurt_ this much."

Jenny compressed her lips, watching Holly sadly. She felt so awful for her best friend—it really was an impossible situation, and she felt helpless to make Holly feel better—because she wasn't going to break up with her boyfriend when she went to college, and her gut reaction was to suggest Holly and Mark just stay together and see what happened. But—that's not what they wanted.

"He just—he just sprung it on me, he wants to cut it off clean—I think he wants to be able to let loose at Beach Week, and when he goes to Disney World with the football team but I…I mean, he could have waited until after graduation, so I had a whole summer to try and avoid him and so no one at school would whisper about it," she said.

"His timing wasn't very thoughtful," Jenny said tightly.

"Don't be mad at Mark, Jenny."

"He _hurt_ you," she said, but her response was half-hearted—Mark had been so much a part of her life for years that she knew he was a great guy; he'd always treated Holly well, and he'd always been nice to Jenny and Nina. She liked him, and this situation sucked all around.

Holly wiped at her eyes.

"I don't understand why it feels like my heart shattered," she growled to herself desperately.

"You were with him for a long time, Hol," Jenny said softly.

"Yes, and I love him—but I never had a fantasy that it would last!" Holly retorted frankly. "He was my high school sweetheart, and that's as far as I ever thought—it's like I'm crashing from a high, and I'm scared because I'll be on my own again, not because I lost Mark—I've told you, I love Mark, but I knew we'd break up—I love everyone. I'm not like you—"

"Me?" Jenny broke in hastily, raising her brows.

Holly rubbed her nose and smiled weakly.

"_You_," she repeated. "You, you're loyal and committed and you're a one guy kind of girl and I…that's not me, it won't ever be me; I get bored, and I don't want to be tied down or be with one man forever…I mean, you want to marry Jethro, don't you? I never wanted—"

Jenny gave her a panicked look, completely startled.

"We haven't—you and Mark were together way longer than Jethro and me have been!" she said. She pushed her hair back, biting her lip. "Holly, when have I _ever_ said—"

"I don't mean now, I mean you _don't_ think you and Jethro will break up!" Holly broke in earnestly. "You want to stay with him when you go to college—I didn't want to stay with Mark. I want to have other love affairs. You—" Holly stopped.

Jenny pushed her hair back again, gathering it in her hands. Holly's words struck a chord in her, and she felt lighthearted and scared at the same time. Holly was right—she never thought about breaking up with Jethro, and it never even occurred to her that he might leave her—but the idea that that meant she was ready to up and marry him was—terrifying.

She was eighteen years old, for God's sake.

The redhead bit her lip and leaned forward.

"Holly, it still hurts because you did everything with Mark, he was your first everything," she said kindly. "Even if you know in your heart it's time to go separate ways, it's still going to be hard to live in the world without him—you'll do it, of course, because you're Holly, and it's like you said—you'll get bored of heartbreak," Jenny paused, and smiled faintly. "I don't think this is easy on Mark, either, babe."

Holly shook her head, wiping at her face.

"He was so upset," she said, her eyes filling with tears again. "He started crying—I've never seen him cry—and he tried to be macho, like he said he wanted to be free to do what he wanted this summer, and he wanted to be over me by August—and that _hurt_ my feelings, but I know he was just trying to get it over with—and I just sat there and stared at him and then, when he was done—you know what I said?"

Jenny rubbed Ike's snout softly, and tilted her head.

"What?" she prompted gently.

"I said 'Okay.' And then I said 'Are we going to laser tag or not?'"

Jenny looked at her, eyebrows raised, and then Holly giggled weakly—and Jenny laughed, too.

"Well—did you?" she asked.

"_Yes_," Holly wailed, in disbelief. "We _went_ to laser tag anyway—and I kicked his ass and then I went home and went to sleep and woke up and cried for _hours_!"

"Oh, Holly," Jenny said softly, giving her a gentle smile.

Holly turned her attention to the brownie batter, taking the wooden spoon Jenny had stuck in there and swirling it around to get a large amount. She lifted it, eyed it, and sighed, closing her eyes briefly and composing herself slowly.

"I want to be mad at him so badly," she muttered, her shoulders slumping. "I wish he'd been mean, or made it easy, but I know it tore him up, and he was nice."

"Mark's a good guy," Jenny agreed.

Holly nodded.

"I don't want to bash him. I want him to be happy. I just…I don't want to go to school, and I don't want to see him at graduation and I…I don't know how long it will take for me to stop thinking of him as my go-to."

"It might be easier than you think, if he's out of sight, out of mind all summer," Jenny said.

Holly nodded, pushing her hair back and licking the wooden spoon. She swallowed after a long period of indulgence, and leaned back again, clearly calming down. She licked her lips and sighed heavily, looking out the window.

"I can't go to Beach Week," she said in a raw voice. "It won't be what I wanted it to be…were you, um-?"

"No," Jenny said, sensing the question before it was asked. "I wasn't going to go," she said, and smiled when Holly looked relieved. "You, Nina, and me—we'll have a sleepover, and go through all four years of yearbooks," she offered.

"Can we watch _Anastasia_?" Holly asked hoarsely.

Jenny smiled.

"I'll even make sure Nina doesn't say a word about the historical fallacies."

Holly laughed tiredly and nodded, biting her lip. She'd like that—spending time with her friends. She looked down into the bowl again and took a deep breath, setting her shoulders back.

"I was afraid Jethro would be here," she admitted. "I didn't want to scare him, crying and looking a mess."

"He's only scared of women with crosses."

"Crosses?"

"Like, you know, Jesus necklaces."

"What the hell?" gasped Holly, cracking up. "Is he a vampire?"

"He's my Edward," Jenny simpered, and then made a disgusted face—she couldn't keep up _that_ charade for even a second. She snorted loudly, and shook her head. "No, um—his first girlfriend, this _super_ sweet, timid religious girl, Maggie—when he broke if off, she took it really poorly, and he accidentally broke her cross necklace somehow, and she gathered it in her fist and scratched his face and neck with it."

"Oh my _God_!"

"Yeah, Jethro's not too big a fan of _God_ after that," Jenny snorted.

Holly giggled, and Jenny was glad she'd been able to make the other girl smile—Holly really was so upset, and seemed so out of sorts and not herself. It broke Jenny's heart, and she wanted to do anything she could to make Holly feel better, and to make it easier.

"Hol?" she began. "You—you want me to subtly tell people? At school?"

"Mark's telling the football team," Holly said, shaking her head. "They've got it covered—but thank you, Jenny," she said, biting her lip to keep it from shaking. "If you could—tomorrow—just make sure you help avoid the subject? If someone brings it up, and you're there?"

"What subject?" Jenny feigned innocence.

Holly stared at her.

"Mark and I broke up—"

"Holly."

"Oh, you were joking."

"_Jesus_."

Holly groaned and tilted her head back.

"More chocolate," she said weakly, wallowing in brownie batter for a moment.

She licked the spoon clean, licked her lips, and closed her eyes, resting silently for a long time. Jenny leaned back, looking down at Ike and making faces at him—the dog was staring at Holly as she sat in the window seat, and Jenny thought it was sweet—Ike seemed to care about Holly's heartbreak, too.

Holly shifted, sitting forward. She set the bowl on the cushions between her legs and looked down at it. She looked over at Jenny, thoughtful and hesitant, and then she bit her lip. Jenny blinked at her, waiting for whatever was coming.

"Can I ask you something?" Holly inquired quietly.

Jenny nodded curtly, still rubbing Ike affectionately.

Holly took a slow breath—it seemed like she was afraid of spooking Jenny.

"Do you think…Gibbs is the one?"

Jenny didn't answer. Her heart sped up—which, she supposed was her answer—but her logic ignored it, and she felt confused—it was such a huge, monumental question, and she was too calculating, too logical, to stop and listen to her gut or her soul.

"I'm eighteen, Holly. I don't know anything about _the one."_

"What does age have to do with it?"

"I'm too _young_," Jenny said. "I can't decide my whole life on a whim."

"It's not a decision," Holly said quietly. "It's a feeling. Don't you have a feeling?"

She did: she felt scared, and overwhelmed, and daunted—because maybe she _did_ feel that, and it went against everything she'd taught herself since her flighty, immature, too-young mother left her at an old, unfamiliar home in Tennessee.

Jenny looked at Holly, and Holly smiled at her wryly, compressing her lips and saying nothing.

"If I asked him the same question, what would he tell me?" she asked—secretively, as if she knew—because Holly had a sixth sense about these things, and Holly thought Gibbs loved Jenny like there was no tomorrow.

Jenny swallowed hard, and her mouth felt dry. This was about Holly, she was supposed to be comforting _Holly_, but instead, she blurted it out, because her chest was too tight to hold it in suddenly—and it had been weighing down on her, way in the back of her mind, that she'd said the words and:

"He hasn't said it back."

* * *

Jackie Vance leaned over the counter in Gibbs' kitchen, watching Gibbs eagerly.

"She's adorable," Gibbs said, deadpan, handing the photo back to Jackie.

"You know what you're looking at, right?" Jackie asked, taking it and holding it up. She pointed. "This is her foot, and this is her palm—she's kind of making a fist, and this is her nose—"

"Yeah, I can tell," Gibbs said seriously.

"Can you really tell? Leon said he could, and then four days later he announced he'd been lying and he thought she looked like a lumpy watermelon."

Gibbs snorted.

"Hope he changes his mind," he said wryly.

Jackie grinned, and shifted, slipping the ultrasound photo into her back pocket. She looked quite proud of herself, and tilted her head, chewing on her bottom lip as she eyed Gibbs intently.

"So, now that you've seen her, will you do it?"

Gibbs looked down at the beer in his hands and didn't answer. He took a swig of it and put it down slowly, listening to the loud sound it made against the ceramic counter. He lifted his shoulders.

"I won't be here when she's born, Jackie," he said gruffly.

Jackie shrugged.

"That doesn't matter," she said, exasperated. "Leroy, you can write her a letter, and I'll give it to her to open when she's old enough to read. That would be cute," she coaxed.

"'M not good at words."

"You're better at words than you think you are," Jackie corrected sharply, catching his eye. "You don't say much, but when someone hits a raw nerve, you've got real power."

"What the hell's that mean?"

"When you say something mean, it destroys people," Jackie explained. "When you say something heartfelt, it sweeps 'em off their feet."

Gibbs snorted at her skeptically, and rolled his eyes, taking another sip of beer. He still hadn't told Jenny about his deployment, and he was trying to figure out how to do that—with the Colonel breathing down his neck—and now Jackie and Leon were asking him to be the godfather to their baby. He'd expected it, he figured, but he was wary of committing, now.

He kept thinking it would be bad luck if he agreed, and then got killed in Afghanistan, and the little Vance never met her godfather.

Jackie reached out and nudged him, pursing her lips.

"I'm not asking you for a kidney," she pointed out.

"She's s'pose to have a godmother, right?" Gibbs asked shortly. "You got to ask someone who's married, unless you're plannin' to ask Jen," he snorted.

Jackie shook her head—she loved Jenny, but in case something happened, she wasn't going to put that burden on the girl.

"My godparents weren't married," she began.

"Ask your sister and her husband," Gibbs tried.

"You lost your _mind_?" Jackie growled, alarmed. "Christy's already got three kids, I'm not trustin' mine to her and that deadbeat husband—and Brenda doesn't even take care of the one she's got!"

Gibbs pointed to his chest.

"You trust me to take your kid if somethin' happens?" he asked skeptically.

"More'n anyone, you idiot!" Jackie retorted immediately. She gave him a look. "All you do is take care of people, Gibbs!" she said earnestly. "You forget I know all about that poor Shannon you watched over when you were just a boy—you forget I know you put Stephanie back together after an abusive relationship," she listed. "I'm not plannin' on dying, baby, but god forbid if something happened to Leon and I," she trailed off, her point made clear.

Gibbs looked down, his jaw tight. He smiled a little, and Jackie grinned—she knew he'd come around; he was just very careful about his commitments because once he did commit, it was all or nothing, and he had a real, pathological fear of failing people.

"Don't make me settle for my second choice, Leroy," Jackie said seriously.

"Who?"

"Tobias," she revealed wryly, and Gibbs snorted loudly.

Fornell had left for his own deployment a four days after taking Nina to the Prom, and other than knowing that he'd gotten to his base in Iraq safely, they hadn't heard from him.

"We're naming her after you, for God's sake!" Jackie said.

Gibbs glared at her.

"Kayla Jethro?" he asked skeptically.

Jackie laughed, and slapped his hand in admonishment.

"No," she growled pointedly. "Kayla Lareina," she said gallantly.

Gibbs arched an eyebrow, clueless. Jackie lifted her chin primly.

"I looked up female versions of Leroy, and I couldn't find any. So I looked up what your name means, and it means King. Lareina means Queen in Spanish," she explained proudly.

Gibbs considered her for a moment, and then grinned. He took a drink of his beer and dipped his head. If she'd put that much research into it—and she really thought he was that important—

"It'll be good practice," she added earnestly. "I know you want kids someday, and you'll be so good at it. You can start now, and maybe not be as scared and worried as me and Leon are."

Gibbs nodded his head, agreeing silently. He reached out and took her hand, squeezing it.

"Yeah," he said gruffly. "I'll do it. Can't promise letters," he added under his breath.

Jackie flew around the counter and hugged him, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

"I knew you'd agree," she said smugly. "Leon really wanted you to do it—I know y'all act like you don't give a shit about each other, but he did care," she informed him seriously. She grinned again and squeezed him in another hug. "And you damn well will write a letter—if you can write to Jenny, you can write to my baby, and I know you can't go ten months without talkin' to your girl."

Gibbs cleared his throat roughly and didn't say anything. He stepped away from Jackie and finished off his Corona, withdrawing a little—he didn't want to talk about Jenny. Jackie had lectured him, too, about telling her as soon as possible, and it was starting to really weigh down on him—he knew she needed to know, but he kept putting it off. First he couldn't ruin Prom, then he couldn't put that on her while she was studying for final exams, and then…he just couldn't bear to ruin her summer, because she'd talked so much about how perfect it was going to be, and instead of a whole summer together, he had to go to Afghanistan.

Jackie tilted her head and leaned where he'd been standing, watching while he washed out the glass bottle to throw it in a recycling container. She narrowed her eyes.

"You still haven't told Jenny, have you, Leroy?" she asked.

He grunted vaguely at her, shutting off the faucet violently and chucking the bottle away. It made a treacherous noise, and he leaned into the oven behind him, looking at Jackie tensely.

"No," he answered finally, his voice brittle.

"She can handle it," Jackie told him firmly. "I know you think she can't—"

"Jen can handle anything," Gibbs said abruptly. "Doesn't mean I want her to have to."

"That's sweet," Jackie said softly. She shook her head. ""You can't do it for her," she pointed out, shrugging lightly. "You know—Leon doesn't mention Iraq much…I think he had it pretty brutal over there, whatever he was doin'," she said hesitantly, "but he came back. He's okay."

"Doesn't mean I will," Gibbs said bluntly. "He wasn't at Camp Dwyer."

"You can't think fatalistically," Jackie pleaded earnestly. "It just invites bad luck." She bit her lip. "What's got you most worried about tellin' her?"

He reached up and rubbed his jaw. It was so many things—he was worried she'd cry, and he didn't want to upset her. He was scared he'd never see her again, and telling her, saying it out loud and watching her realize that was a possibility would scare him more. He didn't know how it would affect their relationship, because she was so young, and he'd be so far out of sight—it would be different than the way they'd planned to see each other on weekends while she was at college—and he wanted her to be his, unequivocally, forever, and the reason he hadn't told her that was because he didn't know how serious she was about him—she was mature, but she was so _young—_

He felt like he didn't know anything. He hadn't ever been in love before.

He only remembered that once, Shannon had said: _love isn't logical. You just do what love tells you to do._

He didn't know if Jenny thought that way, though.

He shrugged at Jackie. She gave him a sympathetic look, and sighed.

"You've got to tell her, Leroy," she said heavily, lifting her shoulders. "You've only got three weeks left."

When she said it—three weeks—his heart sunk, and because he realized how close it was, and how badly he'd fucked up in waiting—she was expecting a summer fantasy in three weeks, and he had to tell her he'd be in the Helmand Province.

* * *

It was surreal to sit on the hood of her car in the parking lot at Alexander Hamilton High School and know that she'd never again enter the school as a student. It was terrifying and exhilarating; it was bittersweet, as the seniors stood around in the parking lot, laughing and goofing off and celebrating the Thursday half-day that ended their twelfth grade education.

Music played from cars—Jenny's included—and people took their time relaxing and hanging out with each other, discussing post-graduation plans, reminiscing about the years gone by and just absorbing the _freedom_ they were about to be handed. The revelry was amusing, and fun—but for Jenny, it wouldn't feel real until her diploma was in her hand next Sunday—ten days from today.

She pushed her hair back with her sunglasses, shoving them off of her face, and grinned as Nina swung herself up on the car and sat down next to her—she had a paper crown on her head with Valedictorian written on it.

"I'm a real Czarina now," she said primly, gesturing to the hat.

Jenny grinned, and held up her hand—which had a paper wristband on it that identified her as her superlative: Most Likely to Succeed and Most Loquacious. Sara Porter, the Student Council President, was making them and handing them out with confetti and candy—she was that adorable—and Jenny was quite proud of hers.

Nina giggled, grabbing her friend's hand.

"That's why you're making Tim's speech for him," she said, and Jenny snorted.

"I'm not complaining," she said, leaning back on her elbows and crossing her legs lazily—she had ended up coming in third to Timothy McGee; she'd gotten her B in AP chemistry, and he'd ended up besting her when the GPAs were weighted. He was Salutatorian, but he'd persuaded Principal Morrow to delegate the speech to Jenny, because he was wary of public speaking, and he knew she wanted to give a speech more than she actually cared about her class rank.

Third was pretty damn good, after all, and the persons ranked fourth, fifth, and sixth, were an entire GPA point behind her—whereas the difference between herself, Nina, and Tim was about .04 points.

Nina grinned, and looked around her, adjusting her crown dramatically. She noticed Holly playing a game in a circle with some cheerleaders and a couple of kids from the band, and smiled lopsidedly.

"I think the week got easier for her," she said.

"Well, it helped that she skipped Monday and Tuesday, and Mark skipped the rest," Jenny snorted.

"What's his excuse?" Nina asked—she was more annoyed with Mark than even Holly was, but Holly thought it was endearing, and didn't ask her to back off.

"He's visiting LSU again," Jenny said. Mark really was out of the state—and frankly, Jenny thought it was good. It let Holly feel a little less like a target while she enjoyed her last week of school, and Holly was popular, so she thrived on all of the chaos and activity. It would have been awful if she was feeling down and couldn't enjoy it.

"I thought Holly and Mark would last forever," Nina muttered.

"So did I," Jenny said, and then laughed. "And all this time, Holly's the only one who never wanted it to."

Nina grinned—it was so fitting for Holly to want a lifetime of long, passionate love affairs that ended rather than one great relationship that ended only at the grave. Nina sighed, and leaned back, stretching out next to Jenny.

"I'm not like that," she said thoughtfully. "I don't think." She paused a moment, and smiled. "I turned out so opposite of what my parents wanted."

"They wanted a stupid college drop-out with no ambitions?"

"That's not what I mean!" Nina laughed. "They wanted a socialistic little atheist with apathy towards the United States," she told Jenny. "But I'm so far from it—how can I be apathetic when I've had so many chances here I wouldn't have had in Russia? That's why they freakin' moved in the first place. The U.S.S.R. crumbled to pieces the year I was born."

Jenny nodded.

"And the atheist part? The socialism?" she goaded.

Nina snorted.

"I'm more in favor of state-led, regulated capitalism," she said flippantly, and then giggled, "and I'm so firmly Lutheran they're _still_ struggling to find out how it happened."

Jenny giggled—she didn't know where Nina got her faith, either, but she had never asked; she figured it was personal.

"I want a big white church-y wedding, and I want to be married until the end of time, and I want a big, _rough_, American husband and loud, _spoiled_ American kids."

"You better hope Fornell comes home safe," Jenny laughed.

Nina giggled and pushed her hair back.

But...I do want to go back to Russia for a while. See if I can make a difference. You know, the problem is...Putin allows anyone who doesn't like it to leave, as long as they don't come back if they criticize him...and so everyone leaves, and no one cares about the people left." Nina smiled benignly. "I'd like to do the opposite."

Jenny rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and tilted her head.

"I'm not like Holly either," she mumbled, and then shrugged. "But I'm too young to know what I want, really."

Nina gave Jenny an intent look.

"You want Gibbs," she said.

Jenny smirked at her.

"You know what you want, Jenny," Nina said wryly, shrugging. "You always have. You think too much."

Jenny squinted in the sun, and nodded. It was true, perhaps—but that was just because she was almost pathologically terrified of seeming anything like her mother, and her mother had let her down, and hurt her father, and broken her grandparent's heart, and Jenny was scared of being like that.

"What are we doing on graduation night?" Nina asked, cocking her head. "Holly mentioned a bonfire or something, before everyone disperses to Beach Week—but I didn't know if you and Gibbs—"

"Ooh, that sounds fun," Jenny said. She waved her hand. "Gibbs and I are going to dinner with Dad afterwards, I assume, but I will spend the night with my ladies," she said primly. She grinned. "I've got all summer with him," she added breezily.

Nina smirked.

"What are y'all doing tonight, again?"

"Celebrating me basically being an adult," she said smugly. "You know, so the last of the babysitting jokes can die out, because I'm a _co_-ed now."

Nina laughed, and Jenny sat forward.

"We're driving out by this dock, where we fished after my birthday, and we're gonna feed the ducks, just relax."

"Oh yeah, just relax," Nina drawled. "Get real, Jenny."

"What?" the redhead feigned innocence.

"You totally wanna do it in his truck!"

Jenny shoved Nina roughly, and then bit back a grin, trying to be indignant.

"What kind of damnable harlot—"

"The same damnable harlot who said you wanted to do it in a truck when we were fifteen!" Nina laughed, and Jenny flushed, swallowing her own laughter.

"Well, if it happens, it happens," she said, attempting to remain aloof.

Nina lunged over and pulled down the sleeve of Jenny's top, peeking down her shirt.

"Ha," she snorted, noting the caliber of bra. "It's happening."

"Harassment!" Jenny shouted, jumping up on her car and popping her sunglasses down on her face. She pointed at Nina seriously—someone snatched a picture, and Nina giggled, falling backwards on the red Mustang.

Holly bounded over, grabbing Jenny's ankle.

"Hey, Miss Opinionated," she said. "Sarah wants a picture with your male counterpart—and then like _seven_ guys want to drive your car—c'mon, _pictures_," Holly was saying, trying to tug Jenny off the car.

Nina shoved Holly, Holly grabbed Jenny's ankle for support, and Jenny let out a shriek and slipped, falling hard onto the hood of the Mustang and then sliding right off of it onto the pavement. She earned herself a long scrape on her thigh from the front of the car, and probably a huge bruise on her shoulder and ass.

Holly gasped, and Nina jumped off the car, laughing hysterically. Kensi Blye took a picture, and then Holly and Nina hauled Jenny to her feet. Holly tried to apologize through her giggles, and Nina brushed off Jenny smugly, catching her eye.

The redhead flashed a smile, and looked around at the raucous parking lot again, letting it all sink in.

This was it.

This was _over_.

She wasn't dying to get out—but she wasn't going to miss it, either.

* * *

It was usually Gibbs who was prone to fall asleep right after they had sex, but tonight, in the cool warmth of night that enveloped them, she was struggling to stay awake. She snuggled against him heavily under the blankets, her clothes wrinkled, but back on her body. She was still barefoot, and he hadn't put his shirt back on, but they were decent enough that if someone happened to walk by the dock, they wouldn't be caught literally with their pants down.

She shifted her head and sighed, pressing her nose into his chest and smiling a little. She bit her lip smugly—Nina had been right, of course; she'd had every intention of having sex with Gibbs in the bed of the truck the _moment_ it got dark, and he hadn't needed much persuasion.

She figured the thrill of going at it outside, in the open, with only the blankets and their clothes and sawdust for pillows, was what had made it the best sex she'd had—to date. He certainly seemed smug about it, except he hadn't said a word for half an hour, and his muscles were getting tenser and tenser the later it got, and the more he stroked her hair.

She kept breathing him in, her eyes closed comfortably.

"I wish I could go home with you," she murmured, pouting her lips.

He grunted, and ran his hand down her back, his fingers pressing gently into her spine. She laughed a little.

"I was trying to get a feel for how much adult decision-making I'm allowed to do when I'm still in my father's house, and he thought I was trying to move in with you," she snorted softly.

Gibbs looked down at her warily.

"How'd he get that idea?"

"I don't know," she murmured, shrugging. She shifted and kissed his jaw, resting her head back and blinking at him. "I wanted to know if he'd let us go to the beach together," she started, and then she compressed her lips, tilting her head. "What's going on between you and him?" she asked.

Gibbs looked at her guardedly, his eyes darkening. He set his jaw, and lifted his shoulder.

"What's that mean?" he asked shortly.

She gave him a look, and moved her hand out from under the blanket, pushing her hair out of her face and untangling it a little.

"He was pissy about you," she said bluntly. "He reverted back to how he acted when we first started dating—and he hasn't said a word to you the last few times you've been over."

Gibbs grunted.

She smacked her hand against his chest and grinned.

"You _have_ to have noticed," she laughed, rolling her eyes. "He usually calls you an asshole or something at least once," she joked.

Gibbs didn't say anything. He looked at her, and then he slowly shifted to his knees, got up and rummaged around for his shirt. She lounged back into his corner—the truck was a little warmer where he'd been leaning against the corner—and watched him, narrowing her eyes. She couldn't think of anything that would have pissed off her father lately—unless he'd somehow figured out she and Gibbs were having sex and decided he couldn't handle it.

She propped her elbow up on the truck and pressed her fingers against her temple, watching him pull his shirt on. He swung off the lowered tailgate, and went around to the cab. Seconds later, he reappeared, and looked at her dully.

"You want a beer?" he asked.

She was a little taken aback, because he usually didn't explicitly offer her drinks—he just didn't say anything if she got something from his fridge. She also didn't know he had beer in that cooler in the floorboards.

"Yeah?" she answered, her voice going up uncertainly.

He ducked into the cab of the truck and got one; uncapping it and hopping up to pass it to her. He walked back around to the tailgate and leaned against it, his back to her for a moment. Then, he turned around, facing her. He took his dog tag from his neck, and held it out.

She stared at him.

"You've still got the other one?" he asked gruffly.

She nodded dumbly—she had it in her wallet; she'd never put it on a chain. The beer was cold against her palm, and she pulled it a little closer to her chest. He tossed the chain, and the remaining dog tag to her, and managed to loop it around her beer bottle. The metal landed neatly on her arm, and she looked at it.

She smirked, and took a drink of beer, shaking her head back and breathing out slowly.

"Keep 'em," he ordered. "They're commisionin' me new ones."

"You get a promotion?" she asked.

He looked at her a minute, and shook his head.

"New MOS," he corrected. "Your old man's pissed at me because I'm a coward," he said roughly, narrowing his eyes.

Jenny, halfway through another sip of beer, stopped and sat forward. She let her arms lie loosely against her knees, and held the bottle at its neck, her smile fading. She didn't know what he was trying to say—Gibbs wasn't cowardly; he was brave.

"What did you do?" she asked, exasperated. "You refuse to duel him or something?"

Gibbs put his hands on the tailgate, physically bracing himself. He had planned to tell her tonight, and he didn't know if it was a good thing or a bastard thing that he had waited until after they had sex. He wasn't really sure it mattered at all, because this kind of thing just wasn't going to go well.

"I'm being deployed."

She was in the middle of drinking when he said it, and she didn't react. She swallowed, lowered the beer bottle, and looked at him for a moment as if she hadn't heard him at all. She blinked.

"What?" she asked quietly.

"Jen," he pleaded. He didn't want to say it again. It had been hard enough to say it the first time.

The longneck made a loud noise as she set it down and pushed it away. She turned her head, propping her elbow on the truck again and touching her lips lightly. She pressed her nails into her lips silently, and he watched her apprehensively. She stared into her palm for what seemed like an eternity and then she—started crying.

She was composed for a second, and then a second later she completely dissolved into tears, and he stared at her in shock—if his jaw hadn't been clenched so tightly, it would have dropped. It wasn't that he'd never seen her cry—he'd just never seen it happen so suddenly and so badly—there was usually some provocation, or build up, to her starting to cry like _this_.

He just stood there—he didn't know what to do. He didn't want to climb back into the truck, because he didn't feel like cuddling up to her, but he couldn't just let her sit there and _cry_. She kept wiping at her face angrily, like she was trying to stem the flow. She did him a favor, though—she got up and came towards him, climbing out of the truck to his level.

He reached out, and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Jen," he said quietly.

She turned her head and took his hand, pulling it against her chest. She held onto his fingers tightly, clutching them close, and swallowed hard a few times. When she spoke her voice was so steady, he was startled again.

"Where?" she asked in a small voice. "Where are they sending you?"

He didn't want to say it out loud.

"Afghanistan," he said.

She closed her eyes.

"Helmand Province," he went on.

She bit her lip and tilted her head back, looking up at the sky. He watched her throat move as she swallowed hard again, and then she dropped his hand and stood back, placing her hand on her hip. She turned, kicked the dirt violently—she seemed to forget she was barefoot—and then cried out, leaning against the tailgate. She kept so silent for so long that he started to feel the need to talk—she perched up on the tailgate.

"Fuck," she said hoarsely, and started crying again. She reached up and covered her mouth. "I'm so sorry, Jethro," she choked out. "I—I was never like this with my dad; I thought I would take it better, I," she paused, and then threw her hand out. "You said October!" she cried desperately.

She clutched the tailgate, leaning forward.

"You told me—October!"

"I thought-!" he started defensively. "I didn't ask for it, Jen—my number's up!"

She looked down at her legs, trying not to attack him—she _knew_ it wasn't his fault. He had no say in where he was sent. She just needed _something_ to say, and she didn't know what that something was—she didn't know if he needed comfort, of if he needed her to be strong—and she was completely appalled at her reaction, because never in a million years had she expected herself to completely _lose_ it like this.

She looked at him, her lips parted, and her eyes wet and red.

"Why is my father mad?" she asked hoarsely. "Is he mad—because you've got to go? Is he blaming you?" she asked tersely.

"He's pissed 'cause I didn't tell you—"

"You're tellin' me now!"

"Yeah, well, I got the orders the day I left sniper school," he said.

She blinked, her expression confused and anguished, and then she straightened, shaking her head.

"You told Dad before you told—"

"No, he ambushed me—he figured it out," Gibbs interrupted harshly. "I didn't—_no_, Jen, he was pissed 'cause I blew you off for the guys—he kept harassin' me to tell you, but I couldn't ruin your Prom, and you had exams—"

"I don't care when you fucking tell me," she interrupted loudly. "Don't listen to him, it's none of his business—he doesn't know how it was affecting you," she said rapidly, trying to process all the information. She looked at him earnestly. "Are you okay?" she asked desperately. She blinked, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment.

He looked at her, a shadow falling across his face.

"I'm fine," he said curtly.

She didn't believe him.

"You _have_ to—be scared, or, or—pissed off or—_something_!" she said wildly, searching his expression. "Marines…Marines go to Dwyer—Dwyer is so dangerous," she choked on her words, and compressed her lips hard. "Jethro," she moaned quietly, and then took a deep breath. "When-? When do you-?"

He grit his teeth angrily, leaning against the tailgate next to where she sat. He pushed his fists into the truck, his eyes fixed ahead of him for a moment, and then he looked at her.

"June eighth."

She stared at him, and then the colour drained from her face and she sucked in her breath as the reality really sunk in.

"Jethro—that's," she started, gasping. "That's ten days from now—that's my _graduation_!" she shouted—her eyes darkened harshly, and she leapt off the truck, shoving him hard. "He was pissed you didn't tell me—you blindsided me!" she railed, her nails digging into him. "Jesus Christ, you _bastard!"_

He turned to her, trying to figure out a way to run damage control. He reached for her, and she slapped him away. She pointed to herself violently.

"My father has no business telling you what to do, but _you_ owe it to me to give me some time to prepare!" she yelled at him. "Ten _days_, Jethro! _Ten_ days?" she cried. He tried to approach her again, and she shoved him hard. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" she bellowed, and then burst into tears again.

This time, he plowed right through when she tried to shove him, and grabbed her tightly around the shoulders and held her to him. She buried her head in his chest and cried, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"I don't want you to go," she sobbed. "I don't want to lose you."

"I'll be okay, Jen," he said automatically, instinctively saying it to sooth her—though he realized, if he started thinking that way, instead of—what had Jackie called it? Fatalistically?—then maybe he'd have a better chance of making good on it. He stroked her hair, and tilted her head back, his fingers resting amongst the curls and against her neck.

"It'll be okay, Jenny," he said gruffly, forcing himself to sound steadier than he felt.

She parted her lips, looking at him so unhappily. She slid her hands up his back, cleaving closer to him, and then leaned forward and pressed kisses to his shirt, lingering close to him. She closed her eyes.

"Jethro," she said hoarsely. "You should have given me more time you—I started making plans, I was looking forward to this summer…I know this isn't your fault—I know you don't want to go…but I needed you to prepare me," her voice went up, and she pulled back—he managed to keep a hold on her a little. "I—I'll barely have a second to process this before I—I tell you goodbye and then…I just have to walk across the stage and get my diploma like nothing's wrong," she burst out, her eyes flashing again.

She looked a mix of angry and defeated and weak, and he ran his hands over her shoulders.

"You could have told me last week, you could have told me the day after Prom—tonight was so _good," _she stopped, and then suddenly violently shoved him back again. "You sure as hell made sure I got it good before you sprung this one me!" she lashed out, her eyes flashing. "What, did you think if I had an orgasm or two I'd be easier to deal with?"

"_That's_ what you're complaining about?" he retorted in disbelief.

"I'm trying to deal with this!" she shouted—she didn't care if she'd sounded ridiculous. "I knew this could happen, I knew it I just—I'm an Army brat; I know how this works but I can't—I can't," she stopped, tears spilling down her face again, and she pushed her hair back, turning away. "I'm so scared," she said into the dark, her back to him. "I'm so _scared_, Jethro—it was supposed to be _me_, going to _college_—not _you_ going to war!"

He came towards her and took her arm, pulling her around. He touched her cheek. His eyes met hers, and he looked apprehensive—insecure; worried.

"It won't change—"

"It will change!"

"It won't change _us_, Jen, you'n'me—"

"Yes, it _will_!" she cried desperately. She jerked her head away from him. "I won't be able to see you—I'll hardly be able to talk to you, I'll—I won't even get notified if something happens, not until they tell your father," she stumbled over her words and wiped at her eyes again. "It's not like I can _visit_ you on weekends! I don't _remember_ most of Dad's dangerous deployments—and there was always someone taking care of me, and distracting me…but this is different," she said. "It's _different_."

He stepped forward and kissed her hard, pulling her close again. She didn't have to explain herself; he'd never been deployed before. He was feeling everything she was—and more, because he was the one in the line of fire. He kissed her until he couldn't breathe, and then he kissed her again, and he was suddenly thinking about what she'd said, about she'd have to find out through other people if something happened to him—she wouldn't get his flag if he died, and if he never came back, he'd never have the pleasure of knowing she was his—

He swallowed hard and pushed her hair back, wiping tears off her face.

"Jen," he said huskily, kissing her jaw. He tangled his hand in her hair. "Jen," he said again, nudging her cheek with his nose.

She tugged on his shirt—she was listening.

His heart seemed to stop.

"We can get married," he said.

She froze—she became so still, he thought her heart must have stopped, too. She moved her lips, mouthed the word _'married?,'_ and then blinked hard, staring at his chest.

"What?" she asked in a deathly quiet voice.

"Let's get married," he repeated gruffly.

The words were out of his mouth so quickly, he didn't even know what he'd said—but the moment he heard himself, he knew it was exactly what he wanted: Jen. He wanted her to be his, and he wanted to be hers—he wanted her to have his flag, and to be comforted, knowing she was in the states waiting for him, so he'd have someone to fight for.

She looked at him, and bolted backwards. She licked her lips and pushed her hair back, her face pale, and her eyes wide and scared.

"Jethro," she moaned. "Jethro, are you—have you lost your _goddamn_ mind?"

He looked at her defiantly.

"No," he growled seriously, taking her hand and pulling her back gently. He looked at her intently, his jaw set. "I want you to marry me," he said gruffly.

She saw how serious he was—she saw it in his eyes, and her eyes stung again. It was too much for her to handle—a deployment, a chaotic proposal that she was sure was thrown out because of the high-emotional charge they were operating on—

She bit her lip and slipped her hand from his grip.

"I _can't_ marry you!" she cried hoarsely, her voice breaking. She pushed her hands through her hair, guilt and fear and panic gripping her. She was so unprepared for this, so young.

"Why not?" he demanded firmly, refusing to look away from her. "You said you loved me."

She licked her lips, her mouth had hands shaking. So they were going to talk about that now; it was going to come up _now_.

"Yes," she shouted harshly. "Yes—but you _didn't_ say it back! I said it _months_ ago—Jethro, I'm eighteen! I'm eighteen years old and I'm young and _stupid_!"

He grit his jaw.

"I joined the Marines when I was seventeen!" he growled roughly. "It isn't so young, Jen," he said, marching towards her and taking her arm. He slipped his hand into her pocket, his fingers tightening on her denim shorts. "Men die over there at your age! They're sending _me_ over there—"

She looked stricken, and shoved him weakly—not without enough force to push him away, or to loosen his hold.

"Don't do that to me, don't blackmail me like that—please, Jethro, I'm scared enough," she stumbled away, trying to put space between them so she could think clearly, and he stormed over and pulled her close, clutching her shoulders tightly.

"Did you mean it?" he demanded.

"Mean _what_?" she cried, exasperated.

"When you said you loved me, did you mean it?"

She made a strangled, sobbing noise. She tried to think of some way to talk about something else, but she couldn't lie to him—he knew when she was lying, anyway, something about her eyes—and she was furious with herself for ever saying that—

"Yes!" she cried. "_Yes_, but—"

He touched her face, his thumb brushing her lip, catching tears.

"I love you, Jen," he said. "I swear it. I want to marry you. I want to come back to _you_."

She swallowed, trying to mitigate the situation.

"You can't—don't say it because I did, Jethro—I didn't hound you about it because I wanted you to say it on your own terns—"

"These are my terms!" he barked. "I love you!"

He hadn't ever said it because he thought it would spook her—and then when she'd said it, something had held him back, like he was afraid of binding them together like that, for her sake, in case it made her feel trapped—and he hadn't ever had much luck with loved ones; he didn't want to jinx it—but this deployment changed his mind on everything.

He kissed her hard and, distracted and upset, she kissed back until she couldn't-and then she snatched his hands into hers.

She held in a vice like grip.

"Jethro," she breathed heavily. "I can't! You're not thinking clearly!"

"I'm thinkin' damn clear!" he growled fiercely.

"I'm in high school!" she cried.

"Not anymore—"

"I'm not out yet, Jethro, and you won't even see the day I am because you're off to—" she stopped, and laughed madly. "You want me to run to a courthouse with you and marry you in the next _ten_ days? I—I want to go to college—you don't understand. This is so much pressure—and I'm so stressed and I don't want you to get hurt or killed in fucking—Kandahar or—"

"Helmand," he corrected roughly.

"It's the same!" she shouted, tears spilling down her cheeks again. "I can't just marry you on a whim—I can't do it. I don't know a goddamn thing about the world—I'm too young—hell, you're too young—we have no idea how hard it would be—and you cannot ask me to make a decision like that this quickly, when all I can think about is you getting killed over there—"

"Shhh," he hushed. He shook his head, tightening his grip on her, stroking her neck. "I'll come back safe. I'll come back. Say you'll marry me."

"It's not that simple!" she yelled desperately, her voice breaking hard. "You might change over there! You might not love me anymore when you get back!" she screamed—she was so frustrated with him, and she hated herself for being mad when she knew he really needed her support—but he was being so _completely_ irrational. "Then what would happen?"

She shook her head and stumbled backwards, hugging herself tightly. She looked so broken that he physically hurt from it—but his pride was hurt, and he was out of sorts. He didn't know what she was talking about—his tongue was tied, and he couldn't untie it, but she _had_ to know he'd never stop loving her. It didn't matter what he saw in Afghanistan, or how badly he got hurt, he was trying to commit to her—he wanted her to know that she was all he needed but she—she was so reluctant—

He stared at her, watching her cry, his arms hanging at his sides—what did it mean, then?

"I can't. I can't!" she cried. She ran her hands through her hair violently, avoiding his stricken face, hunched forward. Her hair hid her face and she leaned against the tailgate, holding her stomach tightly. "Take me home. Jethro, _please_. I want to go home. I want to go home."

She kept repeating it—hoarsely, and she sounded sick, and defeated, and it made him feel awful. The Colonel had been right—it didn't matter how he planned it, it never would have gone well—and then he'd stuck his foot in his mouth, and he had to take her home in this state, with so many unresolved things in the air between them—and the whole drive, he had to make sense of it, and try to understand—if she didn't want to marry him, did that mean she wanted to end it?

* * *

The Colonel was smoking in the study when the front door flew open. He heard hoarse shouting and stood up quickly, eyes narrowing. He barely got down the hall before he saw Jenny rip her hand out of Gibbs' grip. She flew up the stairs, refusing to look at him, and he heard a violent sob before she slammed the door so loudly the house shook.

His jaw tightened, and he slowed down, approaching the wide-open front door wearily.

Gibbs stood on the front porch, his face pale and his jaw tight. His clothes were wrinkled—his shirt had wet patches on it, and it bothered Jasper that they were probably his daughter's tears. The Colonel set his jaw, and turned, looking up at the landing hollowly, at Jennifer's closed bedroom door.

He heard something break against the wall, and winced.

He turned back to Gibbs grimly.

"You told her?" he asked.

Gibbs didn't answer. He looked right back the Colonel, his eyes on the closed door, too, and then he opened his mouth. Nothing came out for a moment.

"She's hurtin'," was all he managed to say. His voice was raw.

The Colonel quietly glared at him, for some reason, refraining from asking. He studied Gibbs for a long time before he did his fatherly duty.

"You break up with her, Corporal?"

"No, sir," the Marine answered tightly.

The Colonel gave him a grim, hollow, wise smile.

"You did the other thing, didn't you?" he guessed bluntly—there were two things young Marines did before their first tours: broke it off, or proposed.

Gibbs just stared at him heavily.

The Colonel cleared his throat.

"Go home, son," he advised sagely.

Gibbs held his glare for a moment. He turned sharply on his heel and—unlike a different night, months and months ago, when he'd slept on the porch to make sure Jenny was safe the next morning—he left.

The Colonel shut the door loudly, his expression dark.

He turned and looked up at the tightly closed bedroom door, and he knew he had no idea what the fuck he was doing.

* * *

He stood watching her door for a long time; it wasn't until Ike trotted halfway up the stairs and whined at him that he realized he should move. He followed the dog to the bedroom door, cleared his throat loudly, and knocked.

"Jennifer?" he asked gruffly.

He had to at least check on her. He had to know she was okay, even if it was only one percent okay.

He got no answer, and he knocked again, louder.

"Jennifer," he growled, raising his voice. Silence—and he rattled the doorknob. "Make a noise or something, kid," he demanded, panic rising in his throat.

He heard scuffling, and the door wrenched open—and he'd never seen his little girl look so bad. Her eyes were almost as red as her hair, and her face was as pale as snow; she looked drained and abused and angry and scared and her lip was bleeding—she had worried it with her teeth until the skin broke.

He swallowed, setting his jaw.

"Daddy," she said, mustering as much steadiness as she could. "I can't do this tonight. I have to be alone. I have to cry until I'm sick."

He grit his teeth.

"He asked me to marry him. He asked me to marry him and I said no and I have to be alone. You have to leave me alone."

He cleared his throat.

"I had to make sure you're gonna make it through the night, Little J," he said firmly.

She smiled, but it didn't look anything like the smile he was used to. Her face crumbled. She nodded her head—nodded, and then stepped forward and hugged him tightly, and he wrapped his arms around her in silent support, at least glad he could give her a hug before she—what had she said?—cried until she was sick.

She slipped away from him after a moment, and locked herself in her room, and he turned and slid to the floor stiffly, wincing at the pain in his knees. He tilted his head back against the door stubbornly, and when Ike came and laid down next to him, thumping his tail forlornly, the Colonel decided he was there for the night—just in case his daughter needed him.

* * *

_fun fact: the marry me scene/take me home right now scene is the first scene of this story I wrote. _

_feedback ! _

_-alexandra_


	22. Bullshit

_a/n: it seems the last chapter certainly riled some of y'all up :D isn't Gibbs a huge idiot dork? poor thing can't help himself. the colonel is the real gem of this chapter, not gonna lie. _

* * *

_Chapter 20_

_Bullshit_

* * *

Her father was asleep stiffly on the floor outside of her door when she ventured out the next morning, and she burst into a shaky smile—the sight made her feel so loved that she almost started crying again. Her eyes and chest throbbed at the thought, and that told her she had no more tears to cry, so she compressed her lips and slipped past him gingerly to drown herself in a scalding shower—and when she was out, the house smelled like her favorite breakfast, and she realized with dread and resignation that she must have looked bad, if he'd taken leave to stay home with her.

She dressed, dried her hair wildly, and took a deep breath before she quietly joined him in the kitchen.

He had syrup and chocolate milk and butter and powdered sugar and coffee on the table—and bacon and eggs sizzling on the stove, and fluffy, thick waffles stacked on a plate, and her lips turned up at the comforting feast.

She sat down in a chair, and placed her hand delicately on a plate, toying with a piece of bacon that was already cooked.

"I don't think I can eat," she said.

Her voice was so raw and scratchy that it surprised her, and she closed her lips tightly, wincing.

Her father shrugged calmly, continuing to cook the eggs. She would change her mind when she had a chance to wake up and get her wits about her, and until then he hoped she enjoyed the smell.

She pulled a coffee mug towards her, leaving the brew black as night, and took a sip, closing her eyes when it burned her tongue. She swallowed slowly, breathed in and out a few times, and pushed her hair back—it was soft and cloudy from the blow-drying, and the locks were elongated and wavy and thick.

"You slept outside my door," she pointed out glumly. "How badly did I scare you last night?"

The Colonel flipped an egg over and turned, eyeing her as she stared down into her coffee. She looked a little better—but her eyes were still red, and she clearly hadn't slept much at all. She rubbed her nose roughly, and he grunted, waiting until she glanced up at him to answer.

"Worse than when he brought you home hammered and you passed out," he said bluntly.

She bit her lip, then winced at the pain, and reached up to rub her finger over the sore, worried spot absently. She pushed her hair back again, tucking it behind her ears, and then she pressed her hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes. She took a sip of coffee, and moved her head slightly.

"You asked me if I was going to make it," she said quietly. Her brow furrowed. "I hope you know I'd never kill myself over a man."

He shrugged.

"That's not what I meant when I asked," he retorted gruffly. "Somethin' happens, and people have a danger period, and if they make it or it breaks 'em. I needed you to tell me you were gonna make it."

She swallowed hard, and bit her lip. This time, she kept biting even when she winced.

"I'm going to make it," she said huskily, and lifted the coffee to her lips again.

The Colonel nodded, and piled his own plate high with eggs and bacon. He slapped a waffle on there, too, and then smothered it all in sugary syrup, sprinkled powdered sugar all over the bacon, and grabbed his glass of cold chocolate milk. Jenny's eyes lingered on the powdered sugar.

"Gibbs likes his pancakes with powdered sugar," she said in a small voice.

The Colonel nodded again. He was still letting her wake up and get composed; he didn't want to start interrogating her right off the bat. He stayed silent while he ate some of his breakfast—his back was killing him from sleeping on that floor, and he had a bitch of a headache. He'd heard Jenny crying for half the night, and then he'd heard her coughing, and then she'd gotten tired and switched to whimpering softly—and none of it had been easy for him to hear.

He watched her intently, and finally she pulled her hand away from her face and curled her palms around her mug.

"He has to go to Afghanistan," she said dully. Her tone was mechanical, and she lifted her eyes and snorted hollowly. "You already knew that."

He looked at her calmly.

"I told that boy to tell you," he said shortly. "Figured he'd gotten orders when you said he was actin' weird. I told him to get it done."

Jenny looked at him through her lashes.

"Dad," she said bravely, "I know you love me, and I know you're trying to take care of me, but with all due respect—do not interfere with our—my," she paused. "Do not interfere with things like this," she said quietly. "You asked him not to ruin my Prom night, and he started looking at it in terms like that, and he kept putting it off, and pressure from you wasn't helping."

The Colonel stopped chewing, listening attentively.

Jenny compressed her lips tightly.

"It wouldn't have mattered when he told me," she said thickly. "If he had done it earlier, it would have been impossible for me to enjoy—my last weeks of school, my dates with him; everything. I almost…prefer this. It's like yanking off a Band-Aid. I have to adjust. I don't have a choice. School is out, so I can sit at home and wallow."

Jasper considered her words, and accepted them. Though he bristled at being told to back off, he did recognize grudgingly that she was right; it may not have been out of line for him to tell Gibbs he needed to 'fess up, but it was out of line for him to cold-shoulder Gibbs, call him, and silently harass him. He nodded curtly at his daughter, and went back to eating. She seemed okay with talking—her voice was getting a little better, less rough and raw, and her eyes were brighter; the dull, dead look that had been in them last night was gone.

She took gulps of her coffee, her brow furrowing. She closed her eyes as she set the mug back down. Her father finished off his syrup and sugar covered bacon and cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair to take a break—he liked his eggs when they were slightly cold.

"What happened, Jenny?" he asked.

He went out on a limb—he had considered she would refuse to discuss it, and he had prepared himself to have to accept that. It was her relationship, and if she didn't want to talk about it with him, he had to respect that. But she had been so upset that he was on high alert, and he hoped she would.

Her brow furrowed, and she licked her lip.

"I," she began. "I don't _know_," she whispered, exasperated. A look of confusion struck her face. "It got out of control—so fast," she murmured.

She reached up and pushed her hair back, tangling her fingers in her hair. She rested her elbow on the table and dipped her finger in her coffee, her eyes on the black liquid for a long time.

"He asked me to _marry_ him," she said, her disbelief evident. She knew she had said that last night—but it was still so foreign and baffling to her this morning—she felt like it had come out of nowhere, and Gibbs had been so startled that she'd said no—she was still reeling from that, too.

She looked up through her lashes uncertainly, and to her chagrin, her father looked grimly aware—he wasn't surprised at all.

"I thought he might," he said shortly, and reached for his chocolate milk.

Jenny glared at him, opening her mouth, and then she realized she didn't know what to say, and she closed her lips. She swirled her finger in the coffee, watching steam rise in little vaporous curls. She pressed her forefinger into her temple hard.

She didn't think Gibbs had mentioned it to her father, because she was certain he had proposed without planning it at all—if what had happened could even be considered a proposal.

"Men in the military tend to marry young," Jasper said wisely. "Some of 'em marry their girls right before or after their first deployment. It makes 'em think in the short term," he explained. "Others break off relationships, 'cause they wanna let loose." The Colonel snorted. "Gibbs ain't the type to let loose."

Jenny nodded to that, a thousand things awakening in her mind and begging to be said. It made sense for a second—and then she was mad at Gibbs for throwing that elephant into their room, and she was scared again, because he was going to war, and she felt guilty and selfish and worried.

"You told 'im no?" Jasper asked bluntly.

She looked at him, taken aback.

"I sure as hell told him no!" she retorted, caught off guard, and reacting defensively. "You—if I'd come home engaged, you'd have murdered him!" she choked. Her eyes flashed.

"Jennifer—"

"You think I'd just _get married_ at eighteen?"

Her father waited until she fell quiet, and then a bit more, before he spoke.

"I am by no means implying you should have said yes," he said firmly. "I was establishing that the answer had been _no_."

"_No_," Jenny agreed, spitting the word sourly. "And he just didn't _understand_. He—he had no idea why I wouldn't run off with him the minute he asked—and it was incredibly frustrating and so heartbreaking at the same time," she said harshly. "He kept—he kept saying he wanted to come back to me."

"He's scared he's going to die over there, Jenny."

She narrowed her eyes, her expression inflamed.

"So am I!" she cried, raising her voice painfully. "That is going to be the only thing on my mind from now until he's home safe—but why does that mean he had to propose! _Why_ did he have to do that—and then he—he—" she couldn't talk about how he'd tried to make it about him possibly dying—she couldn't get the words out.

The Colonel finished off his chocolate milk and leaned forward seriously.

"Have you seen _A Walk To Remember_?" he asked.

She stared at him, speechless. She thought he was joking—but his face was dead serious.

"I—_yes_," she hissed, exasperated. "What does that—"

"The guy married the sick girl," Jasper interrupted patiently.

_"Why_ have you seen that movie?" Jenny asked stubbornly, talking over him.

"Jenny, listen to me," he said, ignoring her. She didn't need to know he'd taken a date to see it when she was younger, and he'd liked the movie better than the date—which wasn't saying much. "The guy married the sick girl. He wanted to marry her even though he wouldn't have her for long, because it meant something to him. That vow meant something to him."

Jenny swallowed hard.

"I'm not dying," she said roughly. "I don't have cancer—Dad, this is not a goddamn Nicholas Sparks novel," she swore. "He doesn't have to marry me to come back to me. I will be here when he gets back."

"It means something to him," Jasper repeated pointedly. "How many times have you told me what a good ol' boy Gibbs is?"

She looked frustrated, and turned her head away, gritting her teeth.

"You're arguing in favor of this?" she burst out, throwing a hand out. Her hair fell into her face and she shoved it back anxiously. "You—why are you on his side?"

"There aren't sides," the Colonel said flatly. "The only side I'm ever on is yours. 'M not takin' sides. 'M trying to make you understand his reasoning, so you can take it into account when you tell 'im why he's wrong."

Jenny blinked—she hadn't expected that answer. In fact—she hadn't expected a lot of what her father was giving her this morning. His words struck a chord in her, and she sat back, considering them. Her eyes stung again, and her chest hurt—she still couldn't cry, so her jaw just tightened, and her face flushed, and her lips shook a little.

She licked her lips and faced her father head on again.

"He hit me with it out of the blue—and he was so certain, Daddy, he was so sure. He wanted to marry me. He would have done it right there. And it scared the hell out of me, because my first reaction was to say _no_—and I knew that would tear him up. He had—he never said he loved me, until last night—"

"Did he mean it?" The Colonel grunted.

Jenny compressed her lips. She put her head in her hand a moment and took a deep breath.

"Oh, yeah," she breathed shakily. "He meant it." She knew he had—he had been so raw, and so emotionally flayed last night, that there was no way he wasn't telling the truth—and beyond that, it was in the way he kissed her, and touched her, and looked at her—and she knew he loved her.

"You in love with him?" Jasper asked gruffly—a little uncomfortable.

Jenny looked frustrated, and glared at him.

"I'm too _young_ to be in love," she lashed out. "I've never dated anyone seriously before him—I'm eighteen and I'm not mature enough to be in love," she spat. "It's stupid that I even thought—that I even said that to him," she growled under her breath.

"Jennifer," the Colonel said curtly, cutting her off. "You're balking for the wrong reasons—"

"No, I'm _not_!" she growled aggressively. "Girls who think they're in love at my age are delusional—they, don't understand the complexities of love, and what it means to stick by someone, and they're still _selfish_ and finding themselves and figuring out what they want—and they throw around the world love and end up throwing away their lives or—or screwing up someone else's—"

"In other words, they're your mother," the Colonel interrupted sharply.

She opened her mouth to yell at him, but he went on.

"You think the kind of girl who's head over heels at eighteen is a flighty, silly, immature brat with no idea of the real world, and you're not that girl," he guessed roughly. "Let me tell you somethin', Jenny—there isn't a teenage girl binary in this world—you're not a 'Jenny' or a 'Kimberly' and I sure as hell don't think she screwed up your life. I thought I'd given you a pretty good one."

"I didn't mean me, I meant how she hurt you and Grandmother and Grandfather—I don't give a damn about her, she never hurt me—"

"Bullshit," Jasper said bluntly. "You hate her because she failed you, and you have that right. But that doesn't mean you dictate your life according to what she did. It doesn't mean you decide what you feel based on what would make you least like Kimberly."

"This isn't about Kimberly!"

"It is about Kimberly," the Colonel barked authoritatively. "You're angry, and your issues with your mother are at the root of a lot of things, Jennifer, and you need to get wise to it. She did you wrong. She's a shit mother, if you can call her that at all," he said curtly. "You think you're too young to be in love with Gibbs because you see being in love at a young age as something Kimberly would do—well who knows if that damn girl ever really loved me," he snapped.

Jenny's mouth fell open, and her father leaned forward.

"What's the age, Little J?" he asked pointedly. "At what point do you think you're old enough—do you think twenty-two is too young? Do you think Gibbs is bullshitting you because he's too young? 'Cause you just told me you believed him."

She stared at him with her mouth open, her eyes wide, and her face stricken with something that mixed astonishment and confusion and realization. She closed her lips and swallowed, sitting back heavily.

"I do believe him," she said finally, her voice harsh. "He's had girlfriends, he's had experience—"

"That doesn't mean he loved those girls," the Colonel said sharply, pointing at her emphatically. "You have no idea if you're the first girl he loved. You've got to fall in love at some point, Jennifer, and if it's the first boy you meet when you're eighteen, then that's that. You don't fall in love when you've earned the proper experience points. You fall in love when you meet the guy."

"It doesn't make any sense!" she shouted hoarsely. "It's romanticized teen crap," she snapped, her voice faltering even as she said it. Her eyes burned and stung and filled with tears. "I can't marry the first boy I seriously date! It's illogical it's—it's—"

"It's not logic," the Colonel grunted.

"I _cannot_ make decisions solely on my heart," she said, lunging forward and pushing her hand on the table. "_That's_ Jethro—that's what he does; he goes with his gut, he knows what's right—he's confident and certain, and he's assertive—and I am too, but I decide things! I take everything into account!"

"That," Jasper said, snapping his fingers. He pointed at her again. "_That_ right there is why you're smart as hell, and it's also a flaw," he told her honestly. "You do need to think, you need to logic some things out—but Jenny, I'm afraid you're going to reason yourself into the worst mistake of your life if you don't let go of this pathological determination to do the _exact_ opposite of anything Kimberly every did or thought."

She pushed her hands through her hair and leaned forward on her elbows. She closed her eyes tightly.

"I love him," she forced out reluctantly. "Fine. Okay. I love him!" she repeated. "I'm in love with him!" she shouted forcefully, and then—a few tears escaped her eyes, and it burned her cheeks, and she sucked in her breath.

She turned her face away.

"It doesn't mean I'm comfortable enough to marry him and never look back—I don't want to be married in college; I don't want it. I'm not ready to get married. He didn't get that! He looked me in the eye and he didn't _get_ it. He's—I know, he's older, he wants it now, the settled down thing," she broke off, and her face hardened with frustration and unhappiness again. "I wanted to talk to him about the deployment—and he did _this_—and I couldn't explain to him what the problem is…I don't think I can without him _thinking_ I don't want to be with him—"

"And you do," the Colonel said.

"Of _course_ I do!" Jenny cried, wiping at her eyes furiously. "I don't give a damn if he's deployed! I still want to be _with_ him! I didn't realize it was marriage or nothing—and I can't deal with a break-up _and_—and with him—deployed—"

She covered her face with her hands.

"Kimberly married you right before a deployment and it was a disaster—I will not make her mistakes," Jenny said venomously. "I will _not_."

"She was also pregnant, and her parents had disowned her," growled Jasper. "Jenny," he said firmly. "You're not your mother."

"You still love her! She abandoned you as much as she abandoned me, and _you still love her." _Jenny cried, a wary look in her eyes. "That scares the _fuck_ out of me!" she cursed bluntly.

"Love is not convenient, Little J," the Colonel said heavily. He was beginning to understand—she was as worried about getting hurt, as any young girl would be, and she was trying to pretend she was stronger than that. "You can't control who you love, or when you love 'em. Only _how_ you love them, and the choices you make regarding that love."

Jenny slumped in her seat and leaned forward, her face falling.

"That's the thing," she said softly, her voice breaking painfully. "I love him—I think I'm going to love him forever, I really think that right now, and I don't want to lose him, ever—I want to marry him but—I still have so much growing up to do," she said hoarsely, tears spilling out of her eyes again—she must have given herself long enough to store some up. "What if I married him, and I changed my mind? And he didn't? What if something happened, and I hurt him beyond repair, like she hurt you? I don't want to break his heart—"

"You've never been like Kimmy was, Jennifer. You're right. You're too young to get married. You're doin' the right thing, tellin' him no, forcing him to re-think this—but you have got to realize that as much as I agree with you, and I'm proud of you for keeping your head screwed on—you're so determined to be the opposite of your mother that you won't accept that you can love him and be logical. The two are _not_ mutually exclusive."

She compressed her lips, pushing her hair back. She leaned back, folding her arms. She was so conditioned to react badly when they discussed Kimberly—not that they ever did—that it took all her strength not to storm out—but everything he was saying made sense, and she had to let it sink in, and do some re-evaluating.

"You shouldn't marry him," the Colonel said gruffly. "I told him not to put a ring on you until you got a degree," he growled, slightly annoyed suddenly. "I'm not trying to make you feel guilty. I am trying to give you some perspective. I've made the mistakes you're talkin' about. I've been there. I can see you're different. You're not gonna make the same mistakes me or Kimberly did. You're too smart," he hesitated. "But don't make the mistake of throwin' away a good thing."

"I'm not," she said desperately. "I told him I needed to be home, alone, to calm down—I didn't end it, I didn't tell him it was over," she told him. "I think—I hurt him so badly, Daddy!"

He nodded, looking at her seriously.

"Jennifer," he said calmly. "How much of this is about how scared you are that he'll change his mind?" he asked.

He hit it right on the money, because she started crying—really crying. Her hair framed her face, and she hugged her arms against herself, trying not to look at him.

"War is so _hard_ on soldiers!" she choked. "It wounds their spirits, it can change personalities—I don't know if he realizes that, if he understands that _he_ might not want me—and I couldn't take it, if I was loyal to him, and he did that to me—I'd hate him, and that's the last thing I want," she sobbed. "He's not thinking. He just needs to _think_."

The Colonel nodded. He sat back—he felt like he'd said what he needed to. He wasn't sure what was going to happen; Jenny seemed to think it was a matter of calming down and staring the conversation at the beginning, but Jasper wondered if Gibbs was on a different track.

He got up and went to the counter, taking some paper towels and handing them to his daughter. She took them and ran them over her face roughly, stemming the flow of tears and leaning forward.

"He's a good man," she said hoarsely, staring at her paper towels. "This kind of thing, it triggers something in him—he doesn't do this that well," she admitted softly. She closed her eyes tiredly—she was so tired suddenly.

"The two of you need some down time," the Colonel advised. He pulled up a chair next to her and leaned forward on his knees. "I want you to think about what I said." He hesitated, and rested his hand on hers. "Jennifer, I think you should take into account...that he may want you to have his flag if something happens to him. That's important to a soldier."

She whimpered, and he shushed her gently.

"I know, I know, you don't want to think about it," he muttered. "But, consider it...when you're letting him down."

She nodded, her face hidden by her hair. She sucked in her breath shakily, and wiped at her eyes again. She closed them heavily.

"Daddy," she pleaded softly. "Can't you keep him home?" she asked—she was joking, sort of, because she knew he couldn't—but for a second she felt like a little girl, back when her father could make everything wonderful whenever she asked. She didn't want flags or gunshot salutes or Taps. She just wanted him _home._

He smiled sadly.

"I wish I could, G.I. Jen," he said sincerely.

He pressed a gruff, protective kiss to the top of her hand and squeezed her shoulder—and he left her alone, so she could start figuring out how she was going to navigate the damage before she saw her boyfriend off to battle.

* * *

Leon didn't like that his wife had dragged him over to Gibbs' apartment to 'knock some sense' into him. He felt like an intruder, standing in the kitchen having a hushed argument with his wife while Gibbs packed his bags.

"Back off of him, Jackie," Leon insisted again, glaring at her narrowly.

"He's not thinkin' straight—"

"You don't have a clue what he's thinkin'!" Leon snapped under his breath. "You've never been deployed!"

"No, but I been in Jenny's position," Jackie hissed right back.

Gibbs walked into the living room to grab something, and both of them fell silent. He didn't look at either of them before disappearing right back into his bedroom. Jackie leaned forward and kept her voice quiet, glaring hard at her husband.

"What the hell happened between them, Leon?" she demanded.

"I told you," he growled. "They had a fight or somethin'."

"Dammit," Jackie swore, smacking her hand on the table. "I know there's more to it to that—and I know _you_ know it."

He gave her a withering look—Gibbs hadn't told him much either, except the bottom line, and Vance didn't know what Jackie wanted him to say. It wasn't her place any more than it was his to get involved and start trying to fix things for them.

"Jackie, if this was us, and Gibbs tried to stick his nose in it, you'd throw a fit," growled Leon.

"Gibbs wouldn't do that!"

"That's my point!" snapped Leon.

"No," Jackie hissed, leaning forward again, "You don't get it, Leon—if someone doesn't smack sense into Gibbs, he fucks up," she said bluntly. "Men are so full of bravado and pride, and it doesn't mix well with how sensitive humans are regardless of gender," she snapped.

"It sounded like she broke up with him," Leon said shortly. "Right before a deployment," he accused darkly.

Jackie laughed hollowly.

"We talkin' about the same Jenny Shepard?" she asked skeptically.

Leon grit his teeth. He reached up and rubbed his jaw, glancing over to make sure Gibbs wasn't anywhere around. He let out his breath harshly, and glared at Jackie, his jaw set.

"He asked 'er to marry him," he revealed bluntly. "She _freaked_ out."

Jackie stared at him. She compressed her lips, swallowed, and then groaned softly, putting her hand against her forehead.

"Of course she freaked out!" she hissed, rolling her eyes. "She's just a baby!"

Vance opened his mouth to retort, but Gibbs stormed into the kitchen at that minute and glared at them both.

"You two want a beer or somethin'?" he offered loudly.

He'd gotten tired of their whispered, hissy conversation—he'd made it clear when Jackie showed up, and then Leon showed up chasing her, that he didn't want to talk. He should have known Jackie would never back down, but he'd hoped Leon would at least drag her into the hallway or something.

Vance shrugged and gave him a grimly helpless look, and Jackie straightened up a little, her elbows on the counter, looking at him intently. She looked like she was about to go off on him, and then her face softened and she came around the counter and put her hand on his arm, looking at him seriously.

"Leroy," she said calmly. "You can't blame that girl," she told him earnestly. "What were you thinking, proposing to her?"

Gibbs' face tightened. He shot Leon a murderous look, and ignored Jackie. He pulled away from her, and went into the living room, where he sat down on the couch and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Jackie went to follow, Leon tried to stop her, and she shoved him back, going in and sitting down next to Gibbs with determination.

"Leroy," Jackie said insistently. "She's too young for that. You can't blame her—"

"Nineteen," Gibbs barked, startling her. He gave her a hard look. "You were nineteen when you married Vance."

Jackie sighed. She frowned, and reached for his hands, grabbing them firmly and pulling them towards her.

"It's a whole different world for her," Jackie tried to explain. "Leon and I, we dated for four years, since I was fifteen! I hated school. I only got my two-year nursin' degree 'cause I had to do something, and I'm only goin' to anesthesiology school 'cause we can't raise a family on Leon's salary alone," she shook her head. "Sugar, listen to me—I didn't have the choices Jenny had. I had a dead beat father, no mother, pregnant sisters—and I loved Leon, and he could get me out," she said firmly. "Jenny…she's been prepped for college since she could talk—she's planned on two or three degrees, probably, and you're her first real boyfriend—hell, you're probably the only thing in her life she didn't plan down to the letter!"

Gibbs let Jackie hold his hands, still looking straight down at the floor. Jackie shook him in frustration, trying to get him to talk. She was almost resigned to his comatose reaction, until he pulled his hands away, and lifted his head.

"She can do all that and marry me," he said gruffly, his voice a little raw. "I won't make her stop."

Jackie bit her lip—if that was what was hurting him, that he'd gotten the impression Jenny thought marrying him would mean she'd have to throw away everything, or lower herself, then Jackie understood why Gibbs was upset—but she doubted Jenny felt that way, and even if she'd accidentally made it _sound_ that way, it was because she was young and scared and confused. And Gibbs—Gibbs misinterpreted things sometimes, because he was so straightforward, and so blunt, he often overlooked the complexities of others.

"Leroy," Jackie said softly. "It's not that simple."

Gibbs jaw tightened—she couldn't have known it was the same thing Jenny had said to him, so he didn't lash out at her—but the worlds still poured salt in the wounds. His face hardened.

"She may have her own things she needs to work through before she feels like she's ready for that—and she can't marry you in the next few days before you leave, Leroy, it's insane!" Jackie pleaded. "Don't go thinkin' that this means she doesn't want _you_."

"What the hell's it mean then, Jackie?" he growled, standing up violently. He gave her a harsh look. "You love someone, you marry 'em. You spend your life with them. It's in the goddamn vows. Good and bad, sickness and health."

"Marriage is hard, Gibbs!" Jackie shouted, exasperated. "You've got to be ready to do it; you've got to be ready and strong and happy before you face all the crap that comes at you, because you can't think marriage alone will make it all okay—you think Leon and I have had it easy? We're still half-grown up idiots and we've got finances and health care and a baby to deal with! It's hard, Leroy! It's hard, and she's just a kid!"

His mouth tightened, and he looked over at Vance. Leon's face was guarded, unreadable, but he nodded slightly—his wife was right; it wasn't easy being married, no matter how much he loved Jackie. He still felt wild sometimes, and he couldn't act on it, because he wanted his marriage to work. They fought and disagreed and had to find ways to work through that—and they had been together long before they'd gotten married.

Gibbs grit his teeth and looked back at Jackie. He said nothing, and then turned to Leon.

"You gonna feed her cat or not?" he demanded roughly.

Vance nodded.

"I got it covered."

"Where are you runnin' away to?" Jackie demanded, standing up.

Gibbs ignored her, and stormed into his bedroom. He slammed the door, and Jackie whirled to face Leon, putting her hand tiredly against her lower back. She threw out the other in exasperation.

"Where the hell is he going?" she demanded.

There were seven days until his deployment, and she couldn't imagine why he'd run off to God knows where when he should be spending every second of every day until then with his girl—no matter how big of a fight they'd had.

* * *

She spent a long time alone with herself—thinking about what her father had said, and considering his wishes when he said she should be alone for a few days before she started hashing it out with Gibbs. She made sure her friends knew she was okay, and she did a lot of soul searching—and it didn't occur to her that when she was ready to reach out, he wouldn't be.

She called him on Monday morning, and remained calm when he didn't answer. By Tuesday night, when he was screening her calls, and his apartment landline was ringing off the hook—she got anxious; she was angry at him, but she was also worried. She knew it was mostly likely that he was stubborn and mad and refusing to talk to her—but there was a chance something had happened she didn't know about, and she couldn't take that risk.

She ended up at his apartment, staring warily at the tightly locked door—locked, and he never, ever locked his door. She had knocked for five minutes when she discovered it was locked, unsure if he was in there—and now, she stepped back and began to rummage through her purse. Her eyes started to sting again, and her throat locked up—when she found the keys, she started to put them in the lock—and then, instead, she just leaned against the door and squeezed her eyes shut tightly.

He wasn't here—that much was obvious. She had no idea where he could be. He had run away, she figured, so he wouldn't have to face her before he deployed—and she wasn't going to put up with that shit. She liked to think she had _never_ put up with his bullshit, and he loved her for it.

She licked her lips and took a deep breath, moving her hand to the doorknob and shoving the key in. She was about to turn the lock when she heard her name. Her heart nearly stopped—the voice was gruff, and deep, and—

And it was Leon Vance.

She looked at him, and then looked away, tilting her head up and reaching to swipe at her cheeks. She mustered a smile and looked back at him—he was standing at the top of the stairs looking apologetic.

"Hey, Leon," she greeted steadily. She compressed her lips. "I thought you were—"

"My bad," Leon muttered, coming closer. He had a key in his own hand, and looked down at hers. She curled her fingers around it, and clutched it in her fist. She folded her arms across herself, tossing her hair back.

"What are you doing here?" she asked quietly, still trying to keep her voice steady.

"I'm, uh, feeding his cat. Your cat. The cat," Vance answered lamely. "Blanket?"

"Banquo," Jenny corrected, with a soft laugh.

She bit her lip, and smiled weakly—at least he'd thought to take care of the kitten before he ran off. She nodded to herself, and looked down at Vance's hand.

"He's not here," she said, mostly confirming it to herself. She didn't ask Leon where he was, because she was positive he'd have Gibbs' back—and if Gibbs didn't want to see her, Vance was likely to respect that—bro code, and all.

She stepped away from the door, and started to move past him. Vance caught her hand gently.

"Hey, um. Don't you wanna see your cat?" he asked awkwardly.

She parted her lips, but she didn't have anything to say. She shrugged, and let him pull her towards the door. He unlocked it, let them both in, and shut it securely.

"You know where he keeps the cat food?" Vance asked gruffly. "Jackie's been doin' it the other days."

Jenny nodded wordlessly and went to the appropriate cabinet, pulling out Banquo's bowl and the container of dry cat food Gibbs kept up and somewhat out of the feline's reach. She made a soft cooing noise and shook the bowl gently; Banquo came scampering into the kitchen.

Vance watched her. She watched the cat.

She leaned against the counter, her arms folded tightly around her—almost hugging herself. She'd have to see if there was a way she could get Ike to be friendly to Banquo. She didn't want to leave him all alone in this apartment, relying on Leon and Jackie to feed him. She crouched down, kissed Banquo's velvety head, and then took a deep breath as she stood. She cleared her throat.

"I'll see you around, Leon," she said wearily, and slipped past him for the door so quickly, he was still processing her goodbye.

He swore under his breath, and decided he couldn't just let her walk out thinking she might never see Gibbs again—as much as he hated to admit he was wrong, he had to; _Jackie_ was right. They couldn't just let these two idiots make a huge mistake if it could be helped.

He followed her out the door quickly, and caught up to her as she was on the top stair.

"Jenny," he said abruptly, pulling the door shut heavily so Banquo wouldn't escape. He reached up and rubbed his jaw tensely, catching her eye. "You got a minute to talk?" he asked.

She hesitated, her hand on the bannister. He saw her knuckles turn white. To his relief—she nodded curtly, and then she sat down, leaning against the bannister when her knees drawn up. He came over and sat down next to her, leaning onto the landing and facing her. Her expression was unreadable, and he wasn't really sure what to say.

"He went to Stillwater," Vance began gruffly. "Had to see his old man, make peace. Even he knew he couldn't go off on a deployment without goin' home once."

Jenny bit her bottom lip, and smiled a little.

"Good," she said softly, her voice unsteady. She nodded for effect. "I'm proud of him," she admitted.

It made her feel a little warmer to know he'd gone home.

Vance snorted.

"Don't be too proud," he said bluntly. "He's runnin' away as much as he's making good with ol' Jackson."

Jenny plucked at the rubber Army bracelet on her wrist and nodded, squinting down at it. She chipped off some nail polish, considering Gibbs' tendencies—it shouldn't surprise her that he'd turned tail and beat it when something overwhelmed him.

"It's his MO," she said quietly, swallowing hard. "He—he did it when he left home, when Shannon died? Do you know about Shannon?"

Vance nodded. Jenny nodded back.

"He left Stillwater when she died. He joined the Marines…and he didn't go back until he met me."

Vance smiled a little.

"You probably gave him the strength to do that," he said sincerely.

Jenny's heart stuttered against her chest. She hadn't thought of it like that—but hadn't it been established that she, Jenny, was the girl Shannon had told Gibbs to look out for? Hadn't the notes in Shannon's old jewelry box, and the things Gibbs said about Shannon's opinions, pointed to Jenny being so important to him? She pushed her hair back, her lips shaking as she took another deep breath.

"I didn't give him much strength the other day," she said weakly, her voice ridden with guilt.

Vane swallowed hard and grit his teeth a little uncomfortably.

"He told me what went down," Leon said. "Least, he talked as much as Gibbs ever does," he added gruffly—and Jenny laughed hoarsely, her throat still locked up. "You didn't break it off with him?"

Jenny shook her head, lifting her eyes to Leon's.

"I," she began, exasperated. Her face fell. "I said _no_," she admitted miserably. "I didn't _end_ things. He won't talk to me. He won't talk to me—at all. I didn't realize—he'd interpret it like this. He's so…he's so," she trailed off, her anger flaring a little. She compressed her lips, and wiped at her eyes furiously. "It's like he thinks I was saying I can't handle a deployment. Like…if I don't want to marry him, I must not want him at all."

Vance nodded. He sat forward a little, and rested his hand on her knee.

"Jackie, she tried to talk some sense into him," he revealed gruffly. "She told 'im you were too young, and he wasn't thinkin'—and I don't know what's goin' through _your_ mind, or what your reasons are…but I know Gibbs," Vance went on dryly. "He's a white hat. He—y'know, Jenny, he just puts all he has into doin' the right thing, whatever he thinks that is, and he's loyal and good and he's got no mean streak, unless someone hurts someone he loves," Vance broke off, and shrugged heavily. "He gets focused and determined, and when he gets challenged or somethin' doesn't go like he thinks it will…it throws 'im off bad—"

"Because he's so genuinely convinced he's doing what's right," Jenny finished softly, her voice shaking. She smiled at Leon. "I know him pretty well, too, Leon," she said timidly.

He nodded at her.

She bit her lip and tilted her head back against the railings of the bannister, sighing in exhaustion.

"I understand the sentiment," she said in a small voice. "It's romantic, it's spontaneous," she went on. She closed her eyes. "I need to talk to him. I need him to understand where I am."

Vance shook her knee a little, giving her a serious look. She shifted her head, and looked at him, her eyelashes heavy and wet.

"Chase 'im down, Red," he ordered simply, shrugging.

She lifted her head up, and stared at Leon Vance, her lips parted slightly—and she knew he was right.

She had to chase him down. She had to remind him why he loved her, because this was bullshit.

* * *

"I have to go to Stillwater," she said bluntly.

She remembered the last time she had stood in this very spot in her father's study, asking to go on a road trip. It wasn't lost on her that she had done this before, and she was willing to bet it wasn't lost on him either—except this time, she wasn't asking permission, she was telling him she was going, and requesting his blessing.

The Colonel glared at her warily, his expression grim—it had been grim for most of the past week.

"Daddy," she said calmly. "I have to do this."

He still glared at her, carefully considering all she had asked—her graduation was fast approaching, and as much as that concerned him, it also meant Gibbs' deployment date was near, and he understood the sensitivity of time involved here. He shifted and leaned forward, folding his hands together.

"You're sure that's where he went?" the Colonel asked gruffly.

She nodded once, emphatically.

"You can get there by yourself?" the Colonel asked. "You've only been to Stillwater once."

"I can get there," she confirmed. She took a deep breath. "If I get lost, I can read a map. But I won't get lost."

Her father grunted vaguely. He lifted his hand and rubbed his jaw, moving his head back and forth as if preparing for something monumental. He leaned back restlessly and sighed, gritting his teeth.

"I will be back for graduation," she promised, in the same calm, determined tone she'd been using since she got home from Quantico. "This isn't a wild goose chase, Daddy," she said somberly. "I can't let him go over there without—_Dad_," she changed gears abruptly. "I need to talk to him. I need to beat some sense into him."

The Colonel looked at her for a long time, until her mouth tightened in frustration.

"He thinks it's over," she asserted tensely. "It's not over until one of us says the words," she declared stubbornly. "I _didn't_ break up with him. I am not about to let him convince himself I did."

Her father cleared his throat, and rubbed his jaw again.

"I want you to be careful, Jennifer," he said cool. "You're very upset. You need to drive carefully and alertly."

She parted her lips, clutching the Army bracelet in her hand. The Colonel met her eyes profoundly.

"You do what you have to do," he growled.

* * *

It was the first time he had ever laid eyes on the elegant marble stone that marked Shannon Fielding's early grave. The smoothly finished, expertly carved marker was engraved, and had a shimmer to it, and for all its sad beauty, it seemed a hollow tribute to such a tragic, gorgeous young girl.

He sat in front of it for a long time—thinking of the night she'd died. Thinking of her untamable wildness, of her thirst for something bigger than small town Stillwater, of her heart, and her sadness, and of everything she'd thrown away with every bad choice she made. He knew—Jenny had been right, when she asked him if he ever thought Shannon had loved him. He had always known. He was sorry he couldn't love her like that; she had only ever been his best friend.

"Why'd you get in the car with him, Shannon?" he asked aloud.

His voice was strained, tense, tired. The past few days hadn't been easy—his preparations for deployment, his painful conversations with the Fieldings, his time with his dad—and Jen. Jen was always on his mind.

He would have picked Shannon up that night, if she'd called. He had said he was through enabling her; he had promised her father he'd cut it out, and start trying to make her get better, and be better—but if she'd called, he'd have answered. He couldn't not take care of her.

But she hadn't. He'd told her she had to start getting her act together, that it was killing him to see her throw herself away, and she'd gotten defensive, and angry—and she hadn't called him. She'd gotten in the car with that drunken bastard she was always running around with, and it had killed her. And her mother had screamed and railed at Gibbs for letting her die, and her father hadn't spoken a word, he was so stricken with grief—and Gibbs had taken all of his rage and his distress over losing her, over failing her, and projected it onto his own father, finally shouting to the high heavens every single thing Jackson had done to piss him off and fracture them for years—and then he'd left.

He had a habit of leaving when things got to be too much.

He slung his arms over his knees, his eyes on Shannon's gracefully carved name.

"I found her," he muttered aloud, his voice hollow. "The woman you told me to look for?" He felt stupid talking to a tomb, but he couldn't stop. "Her name's Jenny. She doesn't take bullshit," he added. He tightened his jaw. "You told me to find that girl, Shannon," he growled. "You didn't tell me what to do when she turned me down."

He was so angry. His pride was so wounded, and he was so scared he'd ruined everything—he thought he'd broken their relationship irreparably. He couldn't shake the memory of Jenny demanding he take her home, of her running crying up to her bedroom and slamming the door. He wanted Jenny more than anything, more than he'd ever wanted any girl—he'd never loved any girl before Jenny.

It felt like it was falling apart.

He narrowed his eyes.

"What the hell do I do, Shannon?" he asked, raising his voice. He stood up, glaring down at the piece of marble. "I don't know what the hell to say. I don't know how to do this!" he was shouting now, raging at the stone, letting the emotions run unchecked. "I scared her!" he shouted. "I got used to her. I took it for granted I'd have her—is this what I get for goin' after some idiot teenage girl?" even has he said it, he didn't mean it, but he couldn't stop. "I can't _think_ without her now!" he bellowed. "I don't give a _damn_ about coming back alive if I don't have her!"

He rubbed his jaw, kicking violently at the grassy knoll beneath his feat.

"It's simple," he growled. "I didn't ask her to give up anything, I didn't tell her it was me or nothin'—I just wanted to marry her! Isn't that what girls want?" he demanded violently. He kicked the gravestone. "You love someone, you marry 'em—that's how it works!"

The moment he said it, he felt drained—he stared at the grave—the silent, silent grave.

Shannon had loved him, and in a million years, he'd never have married her; she'd never have married him—and so he saw the flaw in his old-fashioned, simplistic reasoning—and he was even angrier that it wasn't that simple, and that he couldn't have what he wanted immediately—Jenny, his, by law, in the eyes of God; not because he wanted her as property, but because _he_ wanted to belong to _her_.

He collapsed to his knees and pushed his fist against the gravestone, bowing his head to rest it atop the warm marble. The Stillwater sun beat down on his back, and he was overwhelmed with it all again—with the awkward peace he'd made with his father, with the raw pain of being here, of finally facing the stark reality of Shannon's death, and of the daunting uncertainty that defined his relationship with Jen.

"Shannon," he said hoarsely, his voice cracking. "What's the rule, here? What's your rule?" he demanded tiredly.

His chest ached, and his jaw ached, and he closed his eyes tightly.

Shannon was silent.

* * *

She made it to Stillwater late in the afternoon on Thursday. The traffic had been brutal, and her nerves were shot—she was tired, and sore from sitting so stiffly for so long; she was thirsty and on edge, because she still hadn't figured out exactly how she was going to say all she needed to say.

Her eyes were wide, anxious; she searched for his beaten up old red pick-up truck as she drove through the quaint town—but even outside the old General store, she didn't see it. She was hardly cognizant of the awed stares her car got this time as she locked it and made her way to the shop. A thousand things stumbled through her mind as she opened the door and the little welcome bell rang musically.

She looked around her, and a smile touched her lips—she so loved this little store. It was a living symbol of American entrepreneurship, of hard work, and of the kind of familiar kindness one read about in _Little House on the Prairie_.

She pushed her thick hair back, and approached the counter, looking around. She heard a creak on the stairs and held her breath, turning towards those old wooden things—and for the second time, it wasn't him. She tried to hide her disappointment as Jackson Gibbs stepped into the store, but she didn't have the energy.

He looked surprised to see her, but smiled warmly.

"Look who it is," he greeted, approaching her. He stood opposite her behind the counter and grinned, shaking his head fondly. "You're still around then, eh, Missy?"

She smiled in a small way.

"I'm still around," she said. She looked about her cautiously, and then back at Gibbs' father, swallowing quickly—she didn't want to get caught up in small talk. "Can you tell me where Jethro is?" she asked abruptly.

Jackson's face fell a little. Jenny moved slightly.

"Is he—in the shed, with the Charger?" she asked hopefully.

"He ain't here, sweetheart," Jackson said.

She closed her mouth tightly, her heart sinking—what was the world telling her, if she chased him all the way to Stillwater, only to miss him? She didn't know what to say, so she just looked at Jackson, pleading with him to fill the silence. He cleared his throat gruffly.

"You missed 'im," the elder Gibbs said. "He was here for a coupla days. He spent some time with the Fieldings."

"Shannon's parents?" Jenny asked softly.

Jackson nodded. He narrowed his eyes at her gently.

"Figured somethin' happened between the two of you."

"He told you-?"

"Nah," Jackson said heavily. "He didn't say much. Made his peace. Tried to patch things up, 'fore he deploys. But I saw it in his eyes," Jackson noted. "You remember, I told you to keep that bad look out of his eyes? It was back."

Jenny bowed her head. She clutched her car keys in her hand, and then took a shaky breath, trying not to cry in front of Jackson. He was warm and kind, but he was nearly a stranger to her, and she didn't want to lose it.

"When did he leave?" she asked hoarsely.

She had hardly finished the sentence before tears escaped her eyes. She wiped at them quickly, her face flushing. Jackson reached out and took her hands, pulling them closer, and holding them comfortingly.

"He didn't say goodbye," he told her gruffly. He hesitated. "He went to her grave, Miss Jenny," Jackson told her seriously. "He didn't come back, after that."

Jenny bit her lip. She couldn't wipe the next tears, with him holding her hands, so she threw her head back, hoping if she stared straight at the ceiling, they'd fall back into her eyes and maybe choke her.

"Goddamnit, Jethro," she swore roughly, hissing the words at the ceiling.

She grit her teeth and lowered her head, taking her hands back and pushing her hair out of her face. She took several slow breaths and wiped her eyes, avoiding looking at Jackson. She pressed her lips together tightly and pushed her tongue hard against her teeth, until her jaw started to hurt.

She had to turn right back around.

"Let me make you a cup of coffee," Jackson said.

She shook her head roughly.

"No," she said shortly—her voice was steadier when she was curt. "I can't stay," she informed him tightly. "I graduate Sunday—I can't waste time," she growled. "If he's gone back—"

"You aren't gonna get back in that sweet little car and drive by yourself in the dark without restin'," Jackson said firmly. "The coffee wasn't a request. I'm makin' it, you're drinkin' it, and you can tell me what the hell my idiot son did."

She swallowed hard, a little startled—Jackson sounded so authoritative, and so cool; so different from how he had every other time she'd conversed with him. She pushed her hair back, staring at him, and then took a breath.

"He's not an idiot," she said.

Jackson snorted, and raised his eyebrows.

"The boy's tearin' through the country, leavin' his girl on her own before he deploys, lookin' like the worlds' done 'im wrong—what got into him? What pissed him off?" he asked knowingly.

Jenny licked her lips.

"He—he wants me to marry him," she said in a tiny voice. "I told him no."

Jackson looked grim.

"He's an idiot," he repeated certainly. "He knows better. You don't marry your girl right before you leave. You marry 'er when you get back."

"You marry her when she wants to marry you back!" Jenny cried, narrowing her eyes. "You don't spring it on her, and then make her feel like she doesn't love you when she tries to tell you why she's not ready!"

The redhead bit her lip, and burst into tears.

"Just because she said no doesn't mean she won't be there when you get home!" she choked out, and she still didn't know why she was speaking in third person.

She could barely see Jackson through her blurry vision—but she could tell he looked stricken, and upset, and that made her feel bad—she hadn't meant to make him feel bad. She was just so angry and scared and frustrated—she had planned on catching Gibbs here, on riding the romantic high of chasing him to his hometown, and even this hadn't worked, and she was crying like a stupid little sap in front of his father.

Jackson took her hand again.

"He let you go because you wanted to wait?" he asked softly, his old, wise tone earnest.

"I don't know what he's doing!" she snapped, frustrated. "He won't talk to me—he's so—he's such a _bastard_, sometimes!"

Jackson squeezed her hand.

"Coffee," he told her solemnly. "You take a minute to calm down, Missy," he said kindly. "I'll brew that coffee—and then, you'n'me can have a talk, get you rested up 'fore you run after 'im again."

She squeezed his hand tightly—because that meant so much to her suddenly, that he was reaching out to her. He had raised Gibbs—he had to have some insight, some idea of how to get through to that pigheaded boyfriend of hers.

She turned away to wipe her face and to push her hands through her hair, as Jackson headed towards the back of the store. She leaned against the counter, her eyes on the jars of homemade caramels—the ones she so loved—and peppermints and so many colourful candies and knickknacks.

She turned her head—and she was struck with the memory of his little place upstairs in the storage room, and she didn't think; she went there to calm down, to compose herself while the coffee brewed. She sank down in the corner in that storage attic, where the things he'd left behind were stored, and she started looking through the old books that had belonged to Shannon—and she held the carved wooden jewelry box in her hand, reading each and every rule written in frilly, feminine handwriting, holding Shannon's crucifix necklace in her hand.

There were so many little rules—cute ones, serious ones, silly ones—and she smiled as she read them—and she came to the last one she hadn't read, and it was written in a bright, sparkly purple pen—it was faded, but she could easily read it—it said:

_#5—you don't waste good!_

-and next to it, Shannon had drawn a serious little smiley face.

Jenny read it over and over—and when she heard Jackson calling her—"Little Missy!"—for coffee, she put all of the rules and the necklace into the box, and shut it tightly, clutching it in her hands, against her chest.

She took it with her when she went down into the store to talk, and she took it with her when she set out for the drive back to Quantico.

* * *

His truck was outside his apartment complex. It was two in the morning and the night was foggy. She left the jewelry box on the passenger seat of her Mustang—she left everything in her car—and she went into his building. She didn't know if the door was locked or unlocked; she didn't try it. She simply began to knock—she knew he was home, this time, and she was going to make him physically open the door to her—she was going to make him exert that effort.

Her father knew she was back in the state and ambushing him at Quantico. She had called him to ease his mind about her safety.

Her knuckles were going to be bruised from knocking—she had just reaffirmed her desire not to give up until her bones broke when the door opened. It didn't open violently, like she expected; it didn't fly open, and it wasn't wrenched open; he just opened it, tiredly, slowly, and resignedly.

Her heart slammed against her ribcage almost painfully, and she felt sick. She opened her mouth, but no words came out—his face was haggard, his eyes were red, and he looked used hard and put away wet—he looked drained, and exhausted, and she was tired too—and everything she'd resolved to say went out the window, and she felt so bad—

"I drove all night," she shouted hoarsely. "I drove to Stillwater—and I drove _back_," she shouted at him, her voice breaking.

She took a step forward and shoved him. He caught her and pulled her inside. His movements were so slow and gentle, but his body was tense and hard and so unlike his usual warm, reliable self. She kicked the door shut, her lips shaking as she searched his face.

"Jethro, this is bullshit!" she cried, her eyes burning. "This is _bullshit_! We should have spent this week together—I shouldn't have to chase you across state _lines—we're_ doing this all wrong—"

He nodded, and put his hands on her neck. He pushed her back against the door, and kissed her—hard, desperately, with abandon, and recklessness, and relief. She gasped, hard, and it took her a moment to get her hands on him and decide if she wanted to punch him or pull him closer—and pull him closer she did.

She was too tired to fight, too tired to gather her thoughts. She had cried too much and slept too little in the past week to be intelligent, or coherent, and she thought maybe she could make him understand what she was feeling if they did this instead—so she kissed _back_.

He had half of her clothes off right there, before she insisted on the bedroom—and they were there so quickly her world spun. He didn't turn the lights on, and she closed her eyes, feeling him rather than seeing him—and she kissed him, and touched him, and he forced the realities and logistics they needed to face to the back of her mind.

She didn't say another word—for the rest of the night, there were no words. It was the first time she'd used only her body to speak to him, and it was the first time she had the nerve to get on top of him when they had sex—and there was something about all of it that was cathartic and yet that solved nothing—it was emotionally charged and intense, and when they tired each other out after hours of catching breath and starting over again—he fell asleep—and it was a dead exhausted, deep sleep.

He fell asleep, and she didn't know how to face him in the morning—not when, in the dark and the quiet, with him snoring tiredly next to her, the labyrinth of feelings she had to navigate threatened to suffocate her again, and she needed to recuperate from the wringer she'd been put through.

She held her hair back, and kissed his lips—and she left, so he'd wake up alone in the morning, and take some time to let what had happened sink in—and she would give him time to call her, or come after her this time.

She drove home in tears, but she'd reached the point—again—where no matter how hard she cried, the tears wouldn't fall—they just stung her eyes like there was no tomorrow.

* * *

The Colonel was asleep at his desk when she got home—she didn't see him, and when the sound of her keys violently hitting the hall table awoke him, and he called her in, she put her hand to her chest, startled.

She swallowed hard, her face expressionless and pale—her hair was a tangled disaster, and she knew she looked a hot mess—smeared make-up, red eyes, chapped, swollen lips - she wondered if she smelled like sex, or if he would be able to see it in her eyes.. She was too drained to make up an excuse to ignore him; she went into the study, and she stood before his desk. He looked over her, and something touched his eyes—he looked miserable for a second, and she'd never seen him look that way. He was worried about her—and she was so sorry he was so concerned, because she was going to be okay—she was going to make sure she was okay, she just had to get it together.

"You knock that sense into him, G.I. Jen?" the Colonel asked gruffly, breaking the silence finally.

When she'd called him to say she had missed Gibbs in Stillwater, and was driving back overnight, he'd known he'd be unable to sleep until she got home—and even when she'd texted him to tell him that she was at Quantico at Gibbs', he'd stayed up, and waited.

"You two have your talk?" he prompted heavily.

She parted her lips and looked defeated. She sat down heavily in the chair before his desk and shook her head.

"No," she answered thickly. "No, we…we just had sex," she confessed in a small, hoarse voice.

The Colonel stared at her. He could have had a more mature reaction—but he had no idea why the _hell_ she'd decided he needed to know that, and in spite of how upset she was, and how hard this had been on him, to see her struggling, he lowered his head to his desk heavily and banged it on the wood, groaning.

She didn't say anything—and he hated that she didn't have a mother, that her grandmother was gone, and that he was so unprepared to deal with this—because she wouldn't have said it if she didn't need to talk about it.

He lifted his head, and she was staring at him dully. He wondered what kind of comfort she needed, and he looked at her, his cheeks flushing slightly. He tried to look stern, and compose himself guardedly, so she would feel safe.

"You didn't-?" he started awkwardly. "Just because he's—deploying?" he managed brokenly, narrowing his eyes at his in inadequacy. "He didn't—"

"Dad," she said, so softly he could barely hear. "It wasn't the first time we've had sex."

He'd never actually thought he'd be relieved to hear that—but he was. It was a damn sight better to know she hadn't made a huge decision like that when she was emotionally compromised—and he tried to ignore the immediate desire he had to go to Quantico and shoot Gibbs in the groin.

"You didn't talk at all?" The Colonel asked warily.

She put her head in her hand and looked at him wearily, shaking her head.

"I had every intention," she started huskily. "I was so tired when I got there…and he looked so…I've never seen him look so weak," she said, closing her eyes. "I thought it might be easier to show him how I felt—"

"Jennifer," the Colonel muttered in a pained voice. "I'm really trying here." He did _not_ want details.

"I'm sorry," she murmured—and to her shock and his, a small smile touched her lips. She bit down on her lip, and sighed, lifting her shoulders. "I think—I think we made it worse."

Jasper narrowed his eyes.

"It sure as hell would be easier on you if you hadn't," he struggled, "had…intercourse…with him."

His daughter stared at him through her fingers, and then pulled her hand from her face.

"_Intercourse_?"

He gave her a withering, apologetic look. She bit her lip.

"It's not like I would be less scared if I hadn't slept with him, tonight or any other night," she said.

"Intercourse tends to make things more emotional—"

"Will you stop saying _intercourse_?" she hissed, and her eyes flashed tensely. "I had _sex_ with him after I fell in love with him, you _idiot_!" she snapped harshly. "I was already attached. It was already intimate and _emotional_. That's why I—that's why I decided I wanted to be...with him...like-that—" she blushed furiously.

The Colonel rubbed his jaw, and there was that miserable look in his eye again. She sat forward, and then she stood up. She leaned over his desk.

"Daddy," she began quietly. "I'm still your daughter," she told him, almost anxiously. "I needed—to say it out loud…I know you didn't want to hear that we're—I just needed to hear it out loud—that I screwed it up. I went over there to talk to him and—"

"Jennifer," he interrupted, annoyed. "I don't give a damn if you had sex with him. I don't think of you differently, just because you're sleeping with your boyfriend," he forced out—it was the least of his concerns right now—and since she'd been doing it for a while now, it didn't matter at all. And - he did mean what he said; he loved his daughter without condition.

He trusted her judgments about what was healthy for her, and more importantly, he trusted that Gibbs would be good to her.

"Are _you_ okay?" Jasper demanded shortly. "_Are you okay?"_

She closed her mouth, and breathed in, holding her breath for a moment. She let it out, and opened her eyes wide, inclining her head. She was graduating in less than two days. He was shipping out in less than two days.

"I will be," she said, very softly, but with burgeoning confidence. "This—this isn't how I wanted this to happen," she whispered, "but I think I—I have all I need to figure it out."

The Colonel nodded. She straightened up.

"I'm going to bed," she said softly.

He nodded again—he wasn't sure what had just happened, or why they had had the conversation they'd just had. She was disoriented and tired and upset, and he wanted her to come to him if she needed to be taken care of like his little kid again. He also wanted to see her sort this out—because he wanted to see her walk across that stage on Sunday with the confident, sly smile that was true to her and, he admitted to himself—he wanted it to be because she _had_ figured this out.

He realized with a massive amount of annoyance that he was rooting for Jenny and Gibbs.

* * *

She buried herself in her bed—she knew she was never going to fall asleep. Her thoughts were coalescing; she started to see things, to sort things out; it occurred to her that maybe having sex with him had cleared her head, had helped her to sweat out all the confusion and the bad and to start thinking straight.

She knew—the second time her father peeked in to check on her—that she was never going to fall asleep, and so she got up, and sat down at her vanity. She pulled a thick legal pad towards her, and her favorite blue ink pen, and she took a deep, steadying breath as she began to write:

_Dear Jethro—_

* * *

_yes colonel gibbs is intercoursing your daughter. frequently. and very well.  
ooh, is jenny going to send a SWAK? tune in to find out._

_(also, feedback!)_

_-alexandra_


	23. Macbeth II

_a/n: so many chapter parallels, i can't even. this chapter is much cliche, but i have no apologies. it is the single scene that spawned the whole story - enjoy._

* * *

_Chapter Twenty-One_

_Macbeth II_

* * *

Jennifer Shepard, eighteen years old with a good head on her shoulders, sat in her bedroom at the white vanity glaring determinedly at the reflection in her oval mirror. She parted her lips slightly and lifted her chin—same green eyes, same long, wild, thick red hair, same not sun-kissed pale skin, and same permanently, slightly cocked right eyebrow.

She looked the same; but she was not the same seventeen-year-old girl she'd been in August.

The academic year was over, and she was graduating. It was the glaring difference between the end of this school year and the previous ones—and she _was_ fazed by it. It hadn't occurred to her until the very last moment that this was monumental, that these steps across that stage were an integral event in her life—and she wasn't going to take them.

She compressed her lips, and nodded curtly to her reflection. She reached for a few bobby pins, sweeping her too-long bangs out of her eyes and pinning the perfectly crafted, voluminous curls back in a loose hold. She pinned her hair extravagantly with shimmery black bobbies, and used hairspray to make it frame her face and remain curled and pretty. Content with the look, she shoved her stool back and left the bedroom, leaning over the bannister and waiting for her father to exit the study, so she could catch him in the hall.

He emerged in full uniform, his cover under his arm, and went to get his keys from the table in the hallway. She cleared her throat, and he looked up at her. She smiled faintly as she watched him take a deep breath, and she rested her hands on the railing.

"Mornin', Daddy," she said—he'd heard her get up and start getting ready, but she hadn't come downstairs for coffee.

He raised his eyebrows.

"How's it feel, being a graduate?" he asked.

She licked her lips, doing everything in her power to keep her expression light.

"Ask me when I have a diploma in my hand," she answered.

He smirked at her, and his eyes rested on her intently for a moment.

"You're going to be late, Jennifer," he warned.

"I have to finish my nails," she lied smoothly. She bit her lower lip. "Go—get a good seat. I'll find you after the ceremony."

He studied her, and she wondered if he had her figured out. She smiled at him again, and he nodded, grunting vaguely. He reached up and rubbed his jaw, shaking his keys in his hand loudly.

"It's the end of my parenting job, isn't it?" he said dramatically—her first day had been the beginning of the end.

She shook her head a little.

"No," she corrected. "No, I'll always need a father," she told him, and leaned forward a little. Her hair fell over her shoulders and the curls bounced against her arms—she inhaled hairspray, and gave him a pointed look. "_You're_ going to be late."

He nodded curtly, and placed his cover on his head. He put his hands behind his back, and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

"Is he coming, Jennifer?" he asked bluntly.

She hadn't said a word about Gibbs since she'd gone to bed the other day. He didn't know if they had spoken at all.

Her eyes flashed a little. She took a deep breath.

"No," she answered simply.

He was shipping out an hour and a half after graduation started. He wouldn't have had time.

Her father nodded to her again. He set his shoulders back, and gave her a salute.

"Be all you can be, G.I. Jen," he said gruffly.

She smiled at him earnestly—forcing herself to believe he'd understand—and answered with the usual words—

"If a man does his best, what else is there?"

The Colonel left, and she dashed back into her room and sat on the vanity stool, her face determined again, her heart slamming against her ribs—he _would_ understand. He would have to.

She opened a drawer and pushed aside her bowl of nail polish and a tin of make-up, and she pulled out the wooden box she'd brought home from Stillwater, a book—and a letter. She stared at the cursive writing—her handwriting—on the thick, folded piece of paper and took a deep breath. She had written everything, organized everything, and clarified everything—in this letter. She had meant to send it to him, when she had the means to do so—to say the words she had failed to get out as of yet—but sometime yesterday, she had realized she couldn't let him go like this.

It couldn't just be a letter.

Ike trotted into her room, and sat before her, wagging his tail sweetly. She looked at him, steeled herself, and stood up. She grabbed the torn, annotated, and well-worn copy of _Macbeth_ off of her bed, kissed the dog swiftly—and dashed down the stairs.

* * *

She was slated to be at graduation an hour before the ceremony started, in order to have Principal Morrow look over her speech one final time, and to prepare to line up and walk out—but she had already missed that, and when she ran in, with only her dress on and her gown and hat missing, her classmates were already in line.

Holly spotted her first, and made the mistake of screaming her name.

"JENNY!" she shouted, darting out of line. She nearly crashed into the redhead, grabbing her hands. "Where have you been—you cheater," she cried, eyeing Jenny's dress—white, with an elaborate, colourful decoration on top. "It's supposed to be _plain_ white!"

"Your shoes are supposed to be white, too," Nina accused, dashing up—she held her hat on securely while she glared at Jenny's blue heels, and Jenny smiled to see the Valedictorian pin and stoll on Nina's gown.

"If Ms. Charlene sees those she won't let you walk," Kensi hissed running over from her spot in line. "Where the hell have you been—Morrow has been _freaking_ out, and Tim thinks he has to make the speech—"

"He does," Jenny said, interrupting them all quietly. "I'm not walking."

The girls fell silent, and then, after a long moment of disbelief, Nina shoved her violently. Her eyes flashed angrily, and she put her hands on her hips. Her hat went crooked on her head.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" she demanded.

Jenny looked at her earnestly.

"My boyfriend is about to deploy," she said emphatically, her words stubborn and determined. "I am not going to let him leave this country without knowing I'm here for him."

"That's very sweet—" began Kensi, but Holly let out a squeal and started bouncing.

"How can I help?" she asked automatically, and Jenny beamed—relieved.

"Drag Timothy McGee over here," she hissed—she noticed other students were starting to get out of line, and the teachers and administrators were glaring at her, starting to come over.

"Jenny, you can walk and then go to the airport," Nina said.

"No, I can't," she said flatly. "I have to get there before he goes through security," she explained. "I can't go with him to the gate, not since nine-eleven."

"This is in_sane_!"

"Didn't you _already_ chase him off to—Pennsylvania?" Kensi asked, looking about as thrilled as Holly.

"There are things I need to say to him before he goes—

"Why didn't you talk to him Friday night—"

"Because I just fucked him, Nina, I thought he might like a little tail before he goes off to war!" Jenny yelled, exasperated.

Kensi covered her mouth and giggled loudly. Holly showed up at that moment, Tim in her hands, and shot Jenny a wry look as the redhead flushed and composed herself—she didn't care that everyone had heard her.

"Tim," she said, yanking the notecards out of her wristlet. She held them out. "Tim, I need you to make the speech."

He turned pale.

"I can't," he said weakly, shaking his head. He put his hands up. "No, Jenny, you're good at this. The deal was you do it—"

"Tim," she said again. "This is important. I don't want to be dramatic, but nothing this important has happened to me—ever. You have to make this speech. You can do it," she said. She shoved them into his hands and looked into his eyes. "You can do it. Your father will be so impressed. You can do this. You will be saving the day," she told him emphatically.

He stared at her, and she held his gaze, squeezing his hands.

"I have a different speech to make, McGee!" she pleaded.

He swallowed hard, looking wary, and then set his shoulders back—like the son of a Navy Admiral ought to.

"I can do it," he agreed.

She hugged him, and kissed his cheek. Nina still looked stricken, and Jenny hugged her, too.

"Jenny," she said in her friend's ear. "I wanted to walk across the stage with you," she said earnestly. "I wanted _pictures_ of this."

"This doesn't mean anything to me," Jenny said, hugging her tightly. "They don't even put diplomas in the holders until you behave and pick them up later," she comforted.

Nina hugged her back, and stepped back, nodding. She seemed resigned—but she accepted it; it was beyond Nina's understanding that Jenny felt the need to go running to the airport—but this was Nina's day. Nina was valedictorian; it was everything she had worked for so far, and she deserved to shine.

Jenny had other priorities.

Kensi clasped her hands, and Jenny turned to Holly.

"I hate how much of a cliché this is—" she started, laughing hoarsely.

"Um, I think it's called love, actually," Holly said, and then her eyes widened, and Kensi screamed.

"It's _Love Actually!"_ Holly shrieked.

"It's actually _Love Actually_!" Kensi shouted.

Holly grabbed Jenny and hugged her.

"You have to go, Simon, you're right—he shouldn't be alone!" Holly insisted.

"Morrow's coming over," Kensi hissed, stepping back and putting on a brilliant smile. "Sarah—_Sarah_," she hissed at Sarah Porter, "distract Dr. Sciuto for a minute—" Kensi took Jenny's arm and started shoving her. "You have to go, before they put you in line."

Jenny took a look around at them, and she bit her lip—she loved these people, and she was so glad they were supporting her—even Nina, in her resigned little way. She had already decided this was what she needed to do: catch him at the airport and _make_ him understand her, _make_ him get over himself.

"The Mustang isn't gonna drive itself!" Holly snapped.

Jenny smirked, and turned on her heels and ran the opposite direction of the stage—of graduation—

"Miss Shepard, _stop_—"

She apologized over her shoulder as she knocked Mr. Palmer into a wall and left the room, making her way out of the building—her purpose had been to give the speech to Tim, and to let her friends know she was okay—and that was done; she just had to get to Dulles, and—and wait.

* * *

The school administration was furiously trying to get students back in line—hustling the watchers back into place while Dr. Sciuto quickly coached Timothy McGee on how to speak publicly—Holly, Nina, and Kensi were still out of reach of the teachers, gossiping in hushed voices—when Mark stepped out of line and approached cautiously. The girls fell silent, and Holly turned to him neutrally, compressing her lips. He swallowed and looked around at them—he hadn't spoken to any of them since the break up, but he thought this was important—

"Who, uh," he began, and cleared his throat. "Who's gonna tell Colonel Shepard that Jenny isn't walking?"

The girls stared at him in utter shock. Holly made a strangled noise.

"Oh, _fuck_, no!" she swore.

Kensi immediately put her hand to her nose.

"Not it," she said, leaping backwards, scrambling away—Holly turned to Mark, Mark turned to Nina, and Nina held up her hands.

"I'm the Valedictorian," she hissed. "I'm automatically out—I'm _first_ on stage!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Holly retorted.

"You're graduating thirty-eighth!" Nina retorted bluntly. "You have to do it!"

"We can just let him figure it out—"

"No," Mark said, looking wary.

"He's right, the Colonel will throw a fit—he'll stop the ceremony!" Nina said. She put on an angry face and mimicked the Colonel: "Where in goddamned tarnation is my daughter, Morrow?" she bellowed.

Mark snorted at Nina's imitation. Holly ran her hands through her hair, knocking off her cap, and groaned.

"She _would_ leave that to us—dammit, Jenny!"

Holly bit her lip and looked around.

"I am never going to be able to sneak out—Morrow looks livid—he won't give me my diploma—"

Mark suddenly cleared his throat.

"Are you okay?" he asked loudly. "Holly, are you okay?" he asked, and then Nina reached over and elbowed her in the ribs, hard—startled Holly gasped and doubled over.

It clicked, and Holly dipped her head, brushing her hair forward. She clutched her stomach.

"I don't think so," she simpered just as loudly.

"Miss Alexander, get in line immediately," barked Principal Morrow. He took both Mark and Holly by the arm to march them to their places, and then noticed Holly. "Miss Daniels-?"

"I think I'm going to be sick, sir," Holly whimpered convincingly. "I—please," she murmured.

He looked uncertain, suspicious, and annoyed—but he looked up at Dr. Sciuto and Mr. Palmer and nodded curtly.

"Abby," he said. "Escort Miss Daniels to the bathroom, and escort her right back," he ordered, as he dragged Mark back to his place in line.

Dr. Sciuto beckoned—but the moment they were in the hall, Holly perked up, and turned to the Gothic chemistry teacher.

"Dr. Sciuto," she began. "It's really important that you let me go tell Colonel Shepard—"

"I heard," Dr. Sciuto said, glancing behind her. She looked back, and winked. "_Go_."

Holly beamed, laughed in disbelief, and then scampered off. She was quiet as she took the stairs to the lower balcony of the auditorium and entered the back, looking around—Jenny's father was at least a head taller than most people, so she should be able to—ah; he had a seat up front; he was next to—oh, shit; he was next to her parents.

She swore at Jenny again, and hunched down, darting down the aisle and trying to ignore the looks she was receiving. She reached the Colonel, knelt down, and flashed a sweet smile at her mother.

"Holly _Meredyth_ Daniels—" her father hissed at her in a rage.

She ignored him, and caught the Colonel's eye. He was seated with Noemi, and Jenny's Krav Maga teacher—Ziva, and Ziva's boyfriend. Holly swallowed and tried to keep the innocent, charming smile on her face.

"Hi, Colonel, how are you today?"

He glared at her.

"Right," she murmured. "Jazz, there's really only way I can tell you this—um," she began, and he blinked at her harshly, and his jaw tightened.

"She went to the airport," he interrupted curtly.

It wasn't really a question, but he cocked an eyebrow at her, demanding an answer.

She cringed, and her smile faltered. She nodded quickly.

"You're a smart man, Jazzy," she said, cracking a smirk. She swallowed quickly. "I _would_ say I tried to stop her _but_ I didn't…I thought it was really cute—"

Her parents were glaring daggers at her, and the Colonel sat stiffly back in his chair.

"She went to the airport," he repeated in a knowing growl, his eyes on Jenny's best friend.

Holly bit her lip, and nodded.

The Colonel stared straight ahead of him and grit his teeth, a look of annoyed acceptance on his formidable face.

"God_damnit_, Jennifer."

* * *

He knew from the looks on Jackie and Leon's faces when he told him he was driving himself to the airport that they thought he had completely lost his mind. It made no sense for him to drive himself, park his truck, and have one of them pick it up and drive it back to their place later—but he hated the thought of the small talk he'd have to endure if he let Jackie or Leon drive him.

He needed the silence. He needed to be alone. He was driving to the airport while Jenny was receiving her diploma, and he needed to be alone.

He had nothing with him but the necessary Marine effects—and a photo of Jen, in his wallet, tucked over Shannon's, and a t-shirt of hers she had left at his house. When he had woken up and found her gone—he had spent the day with her cat, playing with Banquo, and trying to figure out where to start.

He knew he had made mistakes, and he knew he had to consider what Jen had said when she was upset, and what Jackie had tried to make him understand. He knew he was doing something wrong, and it wasn't just because his father had told him to get it together just in case he never got the chance again—not the most inspiring vote of confidence, but poignant nonetheless.

He still wished she'd been there when he woke up. Her presence would have made this so much easier.

His knuckles were white and his jaw tense as drove. It had come down to pride and cowardice, and his constant inability to express himself. He didn't know why he was so incapable of saying things he needed to, or dealing with things—maybe it had started when he lost his mother so suddenly. She had killed herself before he really had time to process her diagnosis—he'd been young—and he remembered how scared he'd been.

He hadn't known what to say, because he knew his father was upset, and that the diagnosis was bad and debilitating, so he'd said: _don't worry, Mom, I'll take care of you._ He thought that had been the right thing to say, because the doctors had said she'd need to be cared for. It had been too hard for her, though, and she'd taken the quick way out—and maybe now he couldn't ever get his words right because he had said the wrong thing then; he had made her realize that she didn't want her son to be her nurse because her husband couldn't do it.

He'd never felt like the things he said to Shannon made her better—he had told her she was valuable, that she was smart, and pretty—and she had still been so insecure and so reckless and wild. She'd never listened to him—not in the way he wanted. He talked more with Jenny than he ever had with anyone—except he'd let his fear and his selfish desire to make sure she was his and only his take over the night he told her was getting deployed, and then it had just gotten so out of hand.

He parked the truck in a garage at the airport, and sat in the car for a long time, looking at his reflection in the rearview mirror. It was starting to hit him—he was leaving. He would be in Afghanistan tomorrow. He'd join his brothers in arms at Camp Dwyer, and from that point on—there were no certainties. His jaw tightened—he was facing the stark reality of the deployment, and the fear that came with it, and he didn't have the comfort of knowing Jen was on his side, because he'd fucked it up so badly.

He had been scared of what she'd say when she showed up at his apartment, looking exhausted and broken-hearted—because the broken-hearted look convinced him that she was going to end it—so he had kissed her senseless, to keep her quiet.

He regretted that now. He knew he needed to hear what she had to say. He shouldn't have left her front porch when the Colonel told him to go home—and he shouldn't have taken her to bed when she followed him home from Stillwater—and he should have gotten up yesterday and gone to her house and tried to make things right—explain his reasoning, explain that she _could_ marry him and still have everything she wanted.

He just wanted her. He didn't mind if she wanted him _and_ the world to boot. He couldn't give her much, but he would sure as hell enjoy watching her take what she wanted.

He bowed his head, and grit his teeth—he couldn't put this off any longer. The sooner he got through security and on his flight, the sooner he could start forcing himself to compartmentalize this. He could block it out, focus hard on his job, on surviving, and maybe he'd run in to Jenny again.

He got out of the truck, locked it, and tucked the keys in the back under a tarp so Leon could unlock it later. He slung his backpack over his shoulder, placed his cover on his head, and left the parking garage—shoulders back, chin held high, posture as admirable and unwavering as it ever was. He made his way into the airport at the entrance nearest to him, and sought out his gate—he ignored the smiles he got from a few young girls near him, and he gruffly—uncomfortably—brushed off the woman who handled his flight's _thanks-you-for-your-service._

It was a damn good thing he was a Marine to the core, that he loved the Marines, because he was starting to feel again—like it was all he had. He hadn't felt that way since before he met Jen.

He left the line, looked up at the lines for directions to the security checkpoints, and he had just started to march towards them when the unexpected happened—

His _name_ echoed around the airport.

"LEROY _JETHRO_ GIBBS!"

He turned immediately, reacting to the anger and confidence in the familiar voice and—

There she stood, all dressed up—and he had nowhere to run.

* * *

"LEROY _JETHRO_ GIBBS!"

The force and volume of her shout startled her—she didn't have time to care how many people stopped and stared; what mattered was that _he_ stopped, and _he_ stared. He stood there, looking at her, an unreadable, pale expression on his face—and she let him look at her, refusing to move—she wanted to give him a moment to take her in, to face her—and when that moment had passed—she stormed towards him.

He immediately dropped his heavy pack to the floor at his feet in case he needed his arms—he caught her when she stormed up, his hands sliding over her ribs, clutching at her waist, and he was so relieved to see her—she was such a sight for his sore, apprehensive eyes—that he pulled her close and hugged her, tightly, perhaps more tightly than he'd ever hugged her before.

He closed his eyes and pressed his face against her shoulder, memorizing how she felt. He breathed her in, lifted his head, and kissed her, hard and desperate, immensely relieved that she was here, even if he didn't know what it meant; he hadn't known how badly he needed to see her one last time before he flew off into the daunting uncertainty of deployment.

She pulled back, and he moved his head, going in for her lips—but she put her hands on his chest and shoved hard, making sure he lost his balance, and then grabbing his uniform and holding on tightly. Her eyes were bright and narrow and green, and she glared at him hard. He was looking into the eyes of the girl who'd been waxing a hot red Mustang in June last summer.

"When I said I wouldn't marry you," she growled, exasperated. "Jethro—I didn't mean I was _breaking up with you_."

He stared at her, still out of sorts—still trying to make himself believe she was here, standing in front of him—glaring at him.

She pressed her lips together and tugged on his uniform, standing impossibly close to him—he could still breathe her in, inhale that perfume she always wore. He reached up and put his hands on her wrists, running his fingers over her. Her brow was so determined, so set—her mouth softened a little, and she parted her lips.

"Jethro," she breathed out, her shoulders falling. She grit her teeth. "You impossible bastard," she sighed.

He swallowed hard.

"What the hell are you doin' here, Jen?" he ground out roughly.

"You think I'd let you leave things like this?" she demanded. "You think _I_ would put up with—with this _bullshit_?" She shook her head, her curls bouncing emphatically. "You aren't getting off that easy, babe," she told him, and her eyebrows softened now—and she looked a little lost again.

"You're supposed to be graduatin'," he growled.

"And you're supposed to be watching me," she returned earnestly, holding his uniform tight. "Things didn't work out the way we wanted, Jethro," she said. "I had to re-adjust."

He swallowed hard again, unable to take his eyes off of her. She swallowed and parted her lips, taking a deep breath.

"I couldn't let you go thinking I didn't want you," she said. "Jethro…you never mentioned marriage until a week ago—I don't know where you got the idea that it was a wedding or it was nothing," she burst out quietly. She shook him a little. "It was so impulsive, it was so out of the blue…I was still trying to process you being deployed to a war zone, and you asked me to make an irreversible—life-changing—"

"Irreversible?" he grunted. "Marriage isn't death, Jen."

"It is to _me_," she told him, and shook her head. "Not, it's not death. But it _is_ irreversible, to me. I don't mean it's giving anything up or ending my life—I mean I want to do it once and do it _right_. It's a vow, Jethro; it's permanent to me, it's important—and I don't want to take it lightly or frivolously—"

"I don't take it lightly," he interrupted.

"I know," she said softly. "I know you don't, Jethro—but this isn't how we start a life together." She bit her lip to keep it from trembling and searched his eyes for a moment. "Jethro—we hadn't even had a real, honest to God fight before, until that night, and look how it turned out—look how you handled it. You ran away. You wouldn't talk to me. You took it as an ending," she shook her head. "You can't do that. I can't—I can't marry you until you know how to fight me and know it's not the end of the world."

He swallowed, gritting his teeth—he was starting to see her point. He had run away—and she called him on it, like she always did. He could always count on that—Jen to put a stop to any asinine, stupid shit he decided to pull—that was why he wanted her.

She ran her hands over his chest, and gripped his shoulders.

"You tell me—what it would do to you if you were eighteen, and your girl asked you to marry her, to cement the rest of your life right there—even if you liked her, Jethro," she bit her lip. "You have to understand."

He kept his eyes on her—he was doing what he needed to do all along.

"'M listnenin', Jenny," he grunted quietly.

She closed her eyes, her lashes splaying against her cheeks, and when she opened them—she looked relieved, and happier, and confident.

"I can't process anything right now beyond how scared I am that I might lose you," she admitted honestly. "The idea of getting married—even right when you get back—I'm not mature enough for it," she said, her shoulders falling. She shrugged in defeat. "I know you're ready to settle down. You'd never look at another woman if I married you, but I'm not there yet. I'm not grown up yet. It was only a few days ago that I started to let myself believe I'm allowed to—be in love," she managed.

She licked her lips and took a deep, shaky breath.

"Yes," she began. "I…want to—I think I want to marry you, Jethro. I want a white dress, and orchids, and people throwing rice and...well, I kind of want a honeymoon, in Paris, so, um, remember that—but that's the thing—everything is so unstable. I am still trying to figure out what I want, what I want to study, where I want to be in ten years, and if we make this promise now—you might change over there, you might change when you get back—you might be different, and you might decide you want someone else, and then, well…if I still feel how I feel now…it would _kill_ me—"

"I want you, Jen," he said stubbornly. "I won't stop."

"You say that now—"

"I won't stop, Jen. I'm," he struggle frustrated. "You're the one. It's a gut feeling. Do you get that? I'm a one girl guy."

She laughed shakily and tilted her head back. She took her hands off him to wipe her eyes, and pushed her hair back, her fingers loosening up hair-sprayed curls. She touched her lips, and then wiped her eyes again, meeting his.

"Then please understand how uncertain I am—it's not about me not wanting you, or not loving you. It's about me wanting to make sure _I_ don't change, making sure_ I_ don't hurt you. I have to do what's best for me, because if I'm not in a good place, if I'm not secure, and sure, then I'll hurt both of us. We have to care for ourselves before we can care for each other. I _don't_ want to break-up, Jethro, I don't want to _lose_ you—but if I'm the one," she gasped, "then please…trust me to be here for you," she pleaded. "Write to me, and I'll write to you…but you have to understand that I have to keep growing up—I have to mature, and we have to go through more before we can take those vows—I want to navigate that with you, but we just have to," she grappled frantically for something to say, "we have to slow it down."

They were her father's words. It always came back to her father's wisdom.

She parted her lips, waiting for him to say something. He rested his hands on her hips, his fingertips pressing into her, and she took a slow breath, wondering what was going on in those fathomless, piercing blue eyes.

She moved, and reached into the bag over her shoulder, fumbling with clasps and pulling something out—her hands were shaking a little, and he saw that she was holding—a wooden box. She tossed her hair back and held it out to him, her painted fingernails splayed over the top.

"I spent a lot of time in that attic in Stillwater, after I spoke with Jackson," she said, lifting her eyes to his. "You aren't going to lose me, Jethro, not like you think you are—you won't lose me just because you don't marry me this second," she told him, "you'll lose me if you waste a good thing because you're too stubborn, or too prideful—you don't waste good," she said. She pushed the box towards him. "It's one of her rules," she said. "I'm good for you. We're good, Jethro. Don't waste us."

She bit her lip, and reached up around her neck—he noticed she was wearing his dog tags, and he clenched his jaw as she removed the sparkling diamond ring necklace he'd given to her. She stepped forward and hung it around his neck, fastening it—his heart stuttered at the way her fingers brushed his neck.

She pressed her lips to the pendant and looked up at him.

"I want you to take this with you," she said bravely. "I know it's against regs—keep it tucked out of sight. It's a diamond—don't think I never noticed it was a diamond—"

"Diamond's your birthstone," he said.

"Diamonds are forever," she teased, her voice cracking. "You bring that diamond back to me, Jethro," she ordered. "_You_ bring it back to me safely. You come back to me—and when you get home, you keep that necklace. Propose to me with it," she ordered. "When we've weathered a few storms," she suggested.

He took her hands, but she slipped them away again, removing the Army bracelet from her wrist. She pushed it onto his—and it was such a tight fit around his muscular wrist, but she made sure it got onto him, and she bent and kissed that, too.

"I want that back, too," she said softly.

He tried to take her hands again, but she was determined—she pulled something out of her purse, a folded piece of paper, tied with a hair ribbon to—he blinked squinting—the old copy of _Macbeth_. She held in her hands the copy of _Macbeth_ he'd once stolen, that she'd written in, and he'd read, that had her lipstick-stained phone number in it, and pages torn from where he'd admired her handwriting—_Macbeth_.

He smirked—and she smiled, her eyes watering. She took another breath and held it between them.

"This is my first letter," she said, pointing to the paper secured with ribbon. "You know…you're good with actions, Jethro but I'm…good with words. It's difficult to say what I need to right now—I'd much rather just—support you, so I wrote it all down," she paused, pushing the book and letter to his chest. "It's everything, Jethro. It's pages of tiny writing that spells it all out, why I'm scared, what I'm worried about, what I might and might not want."

He took them both, looking at them for a moment. He looked at the things she brought for him—the jewelry box, the book, the letter. He opened the jewelry box—the rules were inside, and Shannon's golden, tarnished crucifix. She knew him so well—Jenny.

"You write to me, Jethro. You call me. I'll be here," she said firmly, her voice low and hoarse. "I'll _be_ here."

He looked at her, his jaw tight, his teeth clenched, his shoulders tense. He swallowed hard, and shifted his weight, unable to say anything—unable to stop looking at her.

_"Hell,_ Jen," he swore, his voice low. He swallowed hard. "This scares the _hell_ out of me."

She bit her lip, and lunged forward, throwing her arms around his neck. She held him tight and pressed her lips to his ear in a soft kiss, murmuring softly.

"Jethro," she murmured. "Screw your courage to the sticking place," she whispered.

He smirked—it was good to have that fear in the open, to know she could see he was afraid to face mortality and war and yet still look at him the same, and still want him like she had moments before, when he'd been brave.

She kissed his ear again, then kissed his jaw, and then pressed herself against him. He wrapped one arm around her and tangled it in her hair, memorizing the silky feel of that red hair, holding it tight. The book and the box dug into his chest—she finally, finally pressed her lips to his, and he kissed back with all he had—this was the last kiss he was going to have for a long time, and he wanted her to know how much it meant to him.

She parted her lips and gasped weakly—breaking the kiss, and he kissed her again quickly, small, aggressive kisses.

She looked so good, and felt so good—and he was so relieved she hadn't given up on him—and he was so angry with himself for thinking for a second that he should give up on what they had.

She pulled back a little, and blushed. He ran his hand down her back, loathe letting her go—but he had to go.

"I have to go," he said aloud, gruffly. He pressed his fingers against her spine. "You—drive my truck home," he requested gruffly. "I drove it—'cause I'm stubborn. You know where I put the keys," he said hoarsely. "Drive it home."

She nodded, her face composed and brave—stoic. He smiled at her.

"I needed you here, Jen," he admitted huskily.

"I know," she said, and she smirked at him, and bit her lip. She straightened his uniform, brushing it off; making sure his Velcro name tag was straight. She leaned forward, and kissed the necklace again. She looked up at him. "Be bloody, bold, and resolute," she quoted softly.

He snorted, and shook his head, reaching up to touch her cheek.

"'M not quotin' _Macbeth_ at you, Jen," he growled, aloof.

She licked her lips. She didn't need him to. That was her thing.

"Can you quote me?" she asked wryly, arching a brow.

He tilted his head.

"What's the quote?"

She rose up on tiptoes, and wrapped her arms around him again, sliding her fingers through his hair. She placed the tips of her toes on his boots, and wrinkled her nose.

"I love you," she said softly—shyly, because this was the first time she planned on saying it, and let herself mean it—like her father had told her to.

He smirked. He kissed her, and pressed his forehead into hers.

"I love you," he obeyed, so quietly, and so gruffly, that no one but she could hear it—and she was the only one who needed to.

She pressed a final, sweet kiss to his lips, and stepped back, taking a deep breath. He had his letter, he had _Macbeth_, he had the necklace, the bracelet, the rules, and the box to keep it in—she had said what she needed to, and written what she couldn't say. To say something else now would be superfluous—so she was silent.

He was silent, too.

He saluted her. She too his hand, laced her fingers into it, squeezed it, and pressed it to her heart for a moment—like she was touching her heart to honor the flag—and then—she let him go.

She knew it would be easier on him if he didn't turn around, so she held his gaze for a moment before he turned on his heel and marched off—and she watched him until she disappeared.

She reached up, and touched the dog tags at her throat—his old dog tags, the one he'd worn when she first met. She parted her lips and swallowed hard, feeling alone, and overwhelmed, and worried. She was an army brat, a girl who had seen her father off on countless deployments when she was little, she had felt alone, and worried, and small before and yet-

Somehow, she had been braver when she was a child. Somehow, it had never been this painful, or this scary, before.

* * *

The Colonel was sitting coolly in the front seat of her car when she made it to the parking garage—she stopped dead in her tracks, startled, flashing back to the time she'd found him sitting in her room when she tried to sneak Gibbs upstairs. She had only come back to get her license and sunglasses from the car, so she could get in Gibbs' truck—she so badly wanted to be alone in his truck, and breathe in sawdust, and listen to that dumb western station he always had on.

Her father glared right at her, looking mildly annoyed, grudgingly proud, and expectant.

She swallowed.

He sat there.

She straightened her shoulders.

He got out of the car casually, smacking something in her hands rhythmically. He strolled towards her calmly, and handed her the dark blue, gold-emblazoned diploma case.

"I picked that up for you," he said gruffly, narrowing his eyes. "I thought you might appreciate it, since you were off pulling an asinine stunt instead of making your goddamn graduation speech."

She took it, her hand resting on it, hesitating.

"It's only supposed to be released to the student," she began.

The Colonel scoffed at her, and gestured at his full dress uniform.

"Jennifer," he said sternly, "things get released to _me_," he told her boldly.

She took the diploma, and held it to her chest.

Her father cleared his throat.

"Well?" he demanded curtly.

She lifted her eyebrows innocently—wordlessly.

"You did catch that boy, didn't you?" he went on authoritatively. He gave her a dark look. "I hope you _talked_ to him this time," he growled balefully.

She bit her lip, laughing hoarsely. It _would_ comfort the Colonel to know she hadn't had sex with Gibbs in the middle of the airport. She didn't speak, though—she just nodded.

"And?" growled Jasper, annoyed.

She took a deep, steadying breath.

"My boyfriend is deployed," she said aloud, and she pressed her lips together.

He stepped forward and hugged her, resting his hand paternally on the top of her head—protecting her. He was relieved to hear it—that _boyfriend_ word, the one he'd never before liked hearing in remote reference to his daughter. He never thought it would please him—but it did.

He ran his hand over her shoulders soothingly, and glanced down.

"You gonna be okay, G.I. Jen?" he asked gruffly.

She nodded, biting her bottom lip tensely.

"The best I can be," she said confidently, setting her jaw—she smiled.

The Colonel smirked, and looked up, eyes following planes as they took off. He grunted. Jenny elbowed him sharply.

"You thinkin' about all those times you called him Corporal Taliban?" she asked, soft accusation in her voice. "Feeling a bit regretful?"

The Colonel grunted vaguely, grumbling to himself.

"'M thinkin' he damn well better have paid attention when I taught 'im how to bar a door with a chair," he retorted arrogantly. "Taliban hates that shit."

Jenny grinned, and wriggled away. He caught her eye.

"You set him straight, Jennifer?" the Colonel asked. He glanced down at her left hand. "You tell 'em good things come to those who wait?"

"You're a fortune cookie, Colonel," she said softly, and smiled. She pushed her hair back. She narrowed her eyes in the sun, and nodded. "I set 'im straight," she agreed hoarsely, and then met her father's eyes. "I damn well might marry him, Daddy."

The Colonel gave her a long, hard look, and just nodded.

She reached up and tangled her fingers in the dog tags around her neck, taking comfort in them there, replacing the security her Army bracelet had given her with the old boot camp tags of his.

She looked down at the cold metal in her hands, and tilted her head, eyes running over the old MOS, the Marine identification number—the name.

To think—someday that name might be hers.

_Gibbs, Leroy Jethro. _

That day—was not today.

* * *

On the long, turbulent flight to his first combat deployment, he untied the ribbon around a book and a letter—he unfolded neat creases—and he began to read…

_Dear Jethro—_

…and thirteen pages later—thirteen pages he read over and over, until his eyes hurt and his head ached and he had memorized the ink and words that reflected her heart—by the time he'd landed in Afghanistan, he wasn't afraid anymore, and he knew he had to come home.

He knew that Army Colonel's daughter was waiting for him.

* * *

_SCREAMS_

_-feedback appreciated- :D _

_-alexandra_

* * *

* _as usual, it's vitally imperative that I think my lovely beta Miss Mila for dedicating her time to this, and putting up with my absolute neuroticism. never can do it without you, Mila, and that's why you're my one and only. _

* * *

.


	24. Epilogue I

_._

* * *

_epilogue i  
__february  
__2009  
[eight months later]_

_'when the hurly-burly's done'_

* * *

She was having an obnoxious day—it wasn't that she believed in the myth of Punxatawny Phil's weather predicting abilities, but it would have been lovely to hear that spring would come early. She was cold and sick of sloshing through icy, melty snow to get to class—particularly when the professors of those classes seemed to have collectively decided to assign papers with due dates within the same week.

It seemed that they were trying to cram the whole semester into the months before Spring Break, due to the known fact that students' attention spans shrank ten-fold after the Panama City revelries of early March.

Jenny wasn't thinking about Spring Break—she didn't have plans, though she'd been invited to go to Los Angeles with one of her roommates—she didn't want plans. It was a couple weeks away, and she was busy not thinking too far ahead at the moment—she was operating on a day-to-day basis; breathing sighs of relief when the sun went down, and waking up apprehensive.

It had been four months since she last heard from Gibbs, and two months since his father had reluctantly told her he had officially been listed as missing in action.

She closed the news application on her laptop and leaned back in her desk chair, running her fingers through her snow-flecked hair. She sighed heavily, rolling her eyes at herself—there was nothing new on Afghanistan or Iraq; there never was, and he wasn't high ranking or important enough to warrant a story, anyway. She didn't know why she kept checking.

Her father said it was because it made her feel in control.

She had been optimistic when she first heard—he was presumed alive, and that was the best thing a loved one could be told when a Marine went missing. The days went on, though, and Gibbs' father heard nothing, which meant Jenny heard nothing—she absorbed herself in her studies to distract herself from the fear and the worry.

She was a good student regardless, but she was damn near perfect these days—she hadn't gone home since she heard, and she hadn't visited Stillwater, either—she'd been there the weekend Jackson told her, working on Gibbs' old Dodge Charger, and she hadn't wanted to go back.

She reached for the dog tags at her neck and absently ran her fingers over the engraved lettering—it had been a strange eight months.

The summer—the first few weeks after his deployment—had shocked her system more severely than she anticipated; she had gotten so used to him being available and accessible and _hers_ that it shell-shocked her a little to wake up and have it dawn on her that he was a world away—a dangerous world away.

She had handled it, though; she had spent her time with her friends, soaking up the last of their time together before Holly went to Hawaii and Nina to California—and everyone else off to everywhere else—and she'd worked, and visited Naples when her father was sent to Italy on a two month assignment.

She had letters from him, and rare, anticipated phone calls—and she had let herself get excited about college—she _loved_ college. She loved her studies—even the general education classes; she loved her dorm and her two roommates, and at the University of Pennsylvania, she'd adjusted to everything easily—the nuances of independence and the familiarity of his deployment. She still missed him, and worried—but she got used to him being deployed.

She'd been reaching out to his father, occasionally mediating across the seas, and finding her own niche at the university—and considering options, making plans for her academic future. She was busy and involved and content—though she would have been more content with him back stateside—and that homeostatic peace came to a halt when he had gone missing.

It was worse in January, when his deployment should have been up—and he was still missing in action. His unit had started to come home, relieved to have their duty shortened, but she'd heard that their duty was being shortened in November, when he was missing, and so it didn't matter that ten months had been cut to eight: her Marine wasn't coming home.

She had been reconsidering things lately, mulling over all they had discussed in their letters—what had been in her original letters; the uncertainty of his situation was eye-opening in a daunting way, because she reached a pivotal point in the growing up she'd asked him to let her do—

She thought of that letter she'd sent him off with, and of how she'd asked him to consider their age gap, and how he would have reacted at eighteen if a girl had asked him to marry her—how he'd had time to date, and get experience, and sow his wild oats, and she was so limited in only her experience with him—it had been so complicated, at first, trying to make him understand—she didn't want to see other people, she wanted a carte blanche to make sure she wouldn't feel like she was missing out and resent him someday.

He told her he wouldn't ask if she didn't tell—and she went to frat parties, and she saw a few guys for dinner, or for coffee, she let herself be open minded, and let herself think—while still being there for Gibbs—and in all those brief encounters—none of which were physical beyond a sadly lacking kiss or two—she hadn't been persuaded that she was missing out, by committing to Gibbs.

It was when his father told her he was missing, and she waited for days, and then weeks—and now the waiting was habitual, a part of her daily routine, that she had an epiphany, so to speak—she realized she didn't give a shit that she had only dated one man; she didn't need to play the field or have her heart broken—it was a fluke that she had found him so young, that she'd gotten it right the first time—but it didn't mean she was naïve or wrong, it meant she was _lucky_.

She still needed to grow, to be young; she still wasn't ready for marriage - but she was in it with him, for good. She would marry him one day. She knew that now.

She had realized that if it ended badly, and he didn't make it back to her, she would find a way to cope—it would break her heart, but she'd heal, and she would eventually move on—but if he came back, and she wasn't with him—she'd be unhappy.

It wasn't that she needed him to survive; it wasn't manic or unhealthy; she simply acknowledge the gut feeling that she loved him, and she wanted him, and she tacked the word forever onto her thoughts about him, and that was that—it was something that made her resolved, and made her a little more peaceful, and a little happier—while it snowed in Pennsylvania, and she waited for news from the sands of Afghanistan.

She got up and threw herself down on the bed, tilting her head up at the ceiling. She pursed her lips—and then sharply turned her head when she heard the door open.

"You know, it snows in New York—but I'm _pretty_ sure Philadelphia is broken," growled a northern accent brightly.

Jenny smirked. Her roommate—McKenzie Wyatt—stood in the doorway, a distasteful look on her clean face. She tossed her long black hair over her shoulder and looked around Jenny's neat room, sighing and slouching down against the wall a little.

"You done with classes?" she asked.

Jenny nodded.

"You?"

"No," groaned McKenzie. "I have an eight p.m.," she whined, making a face. "I was going to go camp out in the building it's in—but there's no coffee cart in that one, and I _need_ coffee."

Jenny grinned. She rolled onto her side and propped her head up. She looked approvingly at McKenzie's outfit—McKenzie was always stealing her clothing, and lifted her chin.

"You going to the dinner tonight?" she asked.

She and McKenzie were both part of their housing associations language immersion programs—though McKenzie, a biochemistry major, did it for fun, while Jenny participated for credit.

"Baklava's supposed to be good," Jenny added lazily.

McKenzie shrugged.

"I might be too tired after Organic Chem," she said. "You?"

Jenny sighed, frowning.

"I'm debating it," she admitted. "My morning class tomorrow got cancelled, and I've been considering going to Stillwater this weekend."

"You haven't been there in forever," McKenzie pointed out, and pouted her lips sympathetically. "News from your Marine?"

Jenny shook her head, chewing on her lip. She smiled faintly.

"No news is good news," she muttered sarcastically—she was starting to wonder if she wanted to hear anything at all, and before she could say as much to McKenzie, her other roommate poked her head in the door.

"Dude, Mickey, is Jenny—oh, hey," Whitney Sharp said, catching sight of Jenny—they called McKenzie _Mickey_ because she hated being called _Mack_ or _Kenz_, and they hated saying her full name.

Jenny grinned at Whitney.

"Yes," she sighed, pretending to be annoyed. "You can borrow my cardigan." Whitney had an obsessive love for Jenny's Afghan cardigan.

Whitney shook her head, pursing dark red lips and running her hand through snowy, damp white-blonde hair.

"No, girl—er, I already snatched it," she admitted, flushed, and then went on. She pointed. "There's some guy in the lobby lookin' for you," Whitney said. "Like, military uniform."

McKenzie raised her eyebrows and looked at Jenny. Jenny sat up, her own eyes going wide, her lips parting—and Whitney winced and shook her head.

"Oh, no—Jenny," she said hastily. "I don't think it's _yours_," she said. "_He_ knows who I am; I met 'im on Skype," she said. "It's some other guy."

Jenny compressed her lips, turning slightly pale. She couldn't blame Whitney for delivering that news so blasé—but it wasn't a good thing that there was a man in uniform waiting for her in the lobby. She wasn't family, so the Marines wouldn't send a chaplain to her—but most of Gibbs' fellow Marines had come home in January, and one of them would consider it a point of honor to tell her bad news if he could.

McKenzie gave her a sympathetic look, and Jenny stood up, pushing her hair back messily. She took her key off the desk and slipped past her roommates—steeling herself.

"You want me to come with you?" McKenzie offered.

She shook her head stiffly and made her way through the living room of the apartment dorm, slipping into the hall and heading for the stairs. Gregory House was a plush place to live, but right now all of it seemed to swim in front of her—she had no idea what to expect; she had always thought it would be Jackson who called her if things went bad.

There was a chance—that one of Gibbs' Marines got to her first, and then she'd have to wait in agony until Jackson found out, because she didn't want to break that news to him herself—

She took a deep breath as she opened the doorway to the lobby of her accommodation and looked around warily, almost afraid to focus—

"Jenny!" an eager, familiar voice called.

-and when she did focus, she beamed—in surprise, and breathless relief—it wasn't her Marine, but it wasn't an unwelcome face—and judging by the smile on Leon Vance's face, he didn't have bad news.

He might not have news at all, but it definitely wasn't bad.

"Leon!" she answered, laughing. She ran over and gave him a hug, rising up on the tips of her toes to reach him. He hugged back tightly, grinning from ear to ear, and then stepped back, giving her a charming little salute.

She pushed her hair back again and parted her lips—it was so heartwarming to see a familiar face; she hadn't seen Leon and Jackie since they moved to Camp Lejeune, and thought she'd kept in touch diligently, it was balm for her soul to see –well, Leon at least.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her cheeks flushed.

"We were in the area," Leon said vaguely, gesturing behind Jenny.

She turned, a question on her lips—and it died, because she saw whom 'we' was and she burst into a grin, lifting her hands and covering her mouth.

"Jackie," she said, and her eyes crinkled as Jackie stepped up looking smug. Jenny didn't reach out to hug her, because she had her little girl in her arms. "Ohhh, Jackie, she's precious!" Jenny burst out, hesitant to reach out and touch the baby.

Jackie smirked.

"Leon and I think so," she agreed, and tilted her head. "Kayla," she said, lowering her voice warmly, smiling at the baby. "Kayla, this is Jenny. This is Mama's friend."

Jenny held her hands out, palms up, and let Kayla Vance place her tiny, mitten-covered palms into hers. She bit her lip and bounced on her feet a little—she'd only seen this baby in pictures, or on Skype, and neither did her justice; she was a beautiful little girl.

"How old is she now?" Jenny asked, looking between Jackie and Leon. "She's, um," Jenny fumbled, apologetic.

"Five months," Jackie supplied automatically. "She can roll all over the place these days."

Jenny reached out tentatively, biting her lip again.

"Can I hold her?"

Jackie nodded.

"She's a cuddle glutton," Jackie warned, smiling as she gently handed off the baby to Jenny. Jenny held her close and wrinkled her nose, smiling at little Kayla Vance with admiration—she adjusted her comfortably on her hip and met the little girl's eyes, her expression warm.

Kayla studied her intently, and then reached for her hair and started playing with it. Jenny laughed, and Jackie kept her eye on the baby, in case she pulled too hard, or got her tiny little nails tangled in Jenny's locks.

"You been okay, Jenny?" Leon asked, stepping closer. He held his cover in his hand, resting against his knee.

Jenny looked up at him, taking her eyes off of his daughter, and took a deep breath, lifting one shoulder. She nodded, compressing her lips.

"It hasn't been easy," she said honestly, her voice quiet. Her smile faltered a little. "You know, the news came so soon after I heard about Tobias," she said, her lashes twitching.

Vance's jaw tightened, and he nodded—Tobias Fornell had been killed in action in an ambush outside of Baghdad. Jackie rested her hand on Leon's shoulder and smiled gently at Jenny.

"Nina sent his mother her corsage from that Prom," she said. "It was so sweet of that little girl," she said.

"Nina's a keeper," Jenny agreed, sighing. She looked over at little Kayla again. "I hope Jethro wrote you his letter, sweetheart," she said softly.

"He did," Jackie said proudly. "I got it all neatly folded in a box for her, it's the first thing I'm going to teach her to read," she said.

Jenny beamed, and touched Kayla's nose gently with her fingertip.

"He will love you," she told the baby optimistically—Gibbs had, of course, been gone when his goddaughter was born in September, four days late and four days after his twenty-third birthday.

She swallowed, and looked up at Jackie and Leon.

"Camp Lejeune still treats you well?" she asked conversationally.

"Peachy," Leon answered, rolling his eyes—his MOS at Lejeune was Military Police, and he hated it. He cleared his throat and reached up to rub his jaw, glancing at Jackie. "Ah, Jenny—look, can I ask you a favor?" he began.

Jackie frowned at him slightly, and Jenny looked from her slowly to Leon, caught off guard. She lifted her shoulders lightly, inclining her head positively—indicating he should go on.

"I reckon Gibbs' status had been hard on you—hell, I know how disappointed you were that it was me'n' Jackie down here and not him—"

She tried to protest, but he gave her a wry look, and rubbed his jaw again.

"I was thinkin' I could get your mind off of it, or you could help a buddy of mine out," he said. She nodded again, waiting for the rest. "I got this guy, he needs date for a military ball in March, celebratin' the full return of his unit from deployment," Vance said slowly.

Jenny set her teeth together, keeping her features guarded—she knew what the question was.

Jackie stepped away, glancing down at her phone, and moved to answer a text message, a blank look on her face. Jenny looked at her tensely, pressed her tongue against her cheek—and winced when baby Kayla pulled her hair.

"Leon," she began softly. "I have a hard time thinking straight when I'm not doing school work, I've been avoiding my own father because he's so worried about my sanity, it's smothering me…I got a one track mind, right now," she said, her tone, apologetic. "I can't."

"The guy really needs an escort, Jenny," Leon said. "It's been a damn long time since he's seen a pretty redhead."

Jenny parted her lips, and paused. She narrowed her eyes slightly, looking at him intently.

"Leon," Jackie ordered loudly. "Take my baby from that girl before she drops her."

Jenny's brow furrowed as Leon took Kayla away, wondering why—

"Jenny," Leon said again. "Give 'im a chance."

She stared at Leon. She didn't breathe. She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath—and because her gut told her to, she turned around.

He was standing there. He was standing there, by the door to the stairs. He was standing there—he was on crutches, and his face was bruised, and his neck had a healing gash—but he was standing there.

She stood frozen to the spot, her eyes on him, her lips parted. She almost didn't believe it—he _couldn't_ actually be standing there, he was missing in action—and then: he smirked.

She ran forward, and crashed into him, knocking him back against the wall. His crutches clattered to the floor and he grunted; she was a mass of red hair trying to crawl up his body, and he grasped her around the waist, holding her tight—he laughed.

"He's on _crutches_!" cried McKenzie in an exasperated voice—Whitney winced, and Jenny vaguely realized they were there suddenly, too, and they must have been in on it—but she ignored them.

She knew he couldn't hold her up with that injury, so she appeased herself by pressing him against the wall and placing her hands on his neck. She licked her lips, meeting his eyes, convincing herself it was him—she was looking at him, touching him—and then she was kissing him.

It _was_ him.

"Jethro," she murmured against his lips, her eyes closed tightly. Her voice cracked. "_Jethro_."

She felt him grin, and felt his hand warm on her back, and slowly she realized she needed to breathe, and they had an audience—in addition to her roommates, and the Vances'—other residents were watching, and grinning—and one was whistling. She blushed hard, and pulled back—but she didn't let go of him!

_This_—was why Leon had to take the baby away from her.

She met Gibbs' eyes, and he smirked at her again—it touched his blue eyes, and she was relieved to see the light there, because she'd been scared he'd come back broken—but aside from the physical injuries, he looked okay.

She looked around, her eyes stinging. She glared at them—and her eyes rested on Leon.

He grinned.

"We're drivin' 'im to Stillwater," he said smugly. "We picked 'im up at the airport this mornin', and headed straight here," he explained.

Whitney gave Jenny a prim look.

"McKenzie hid him in her room, while I checked Leon and Jackie into the building," she said. "Jackie texted me when Leon started the spiel about the military ball—"

Jenny closed her eyes and raised them to the ceiling—she didn't know what to say; she was overwhelmed with—with relief. It was just relief, flooding her, erasing the nightmares of the past weeks, erasing the anxiety and the paranoia, soothing her tense muscles and easing her stress.

She turned back to Gibbs—she heard McKenzie go to introduce herself to Jackie and Leon, and her roommates started to exclaim over the baby—and she pressed her hands against his chest, and then to his neck again.

"You're home," she murmured. She closed her eyes, taking a shuddering breath. "Jethro, I—"

"I know," he said gruffly, reaching for her wrists and holding them.

"No," she shook her head softly. "No, you can't comprehend—missing in action," she choked out, her lips curling sourly. "The uncertainty—it's worse than," she stopped, and bit her lip, feeling like she'd been sucker punched. "No, it isn't," she corrected.

He moved his head in agreement, and pulled her closer. Her lips brushed his.

"What happened?"

He shrugged.

"It's a shrapnel wound," he referred to his leg. "It'll heal."

Her fingers ran over the raw scrapes on his neck, gently massaged the bruises on his brow and jaw. She moved her lips soundlessly, her eyes stinging—had he been a prisoner, had he just ben camping out, avoiding insurgents?

He shook his head—he didn't want her to ask. He must not be able to talk about it.

"I was so scared," she whispered.

He nodded, setting his jaw.

"I got out, Jen," he soothed. He cracked a lopsided smile. "Had some help," he added.

She looked at him earnestly, her lips parted.

"Me'n two other guys thought we were done for, when these rangers showed up—couple of 'em, teamed with a task force of Marines," he said.

Jenny's lips moved.

"Rangers," she murmured. "Army…?" she asked.

He gave her a look, and she laughed, a hoarse, noise of disbelief. She understood what he was implying—_Army_—but it was—it was impossible.

"There's no way my father organized a joint Army-Navy mission to get my boyfriend out of trouble," she gasped shakily. She bit her lip—and then a look came over her face, and he raised his eyebrows.

"They knew my name, Jen." He held up his wrist. "They asked to see the _Army_ bracelet."

She pressed her lips together, and shook her head.

"He shouldn't—it's an abuse of power, it's," she faltered, her voice failing her. "Is it selfish that I don't care?" she whispered huskily.

"Marines were in on it, too, Jen," he said gruffly under his breath. "Leave no man behind."

She nodded her head, chewing on her lip roughly.

"You were a—you were—prisoner-?"

His hands moved on her back, and he clenched his jaw a little—he shook his head slightly, but he wasn't answering negatively, he was just telling her he didn't want to talk about it. She nodded slightly, her hands running over his battle scars again. The sounds around them seemed to fade out—he straightened up a little, regained his bearings, and stood, crutches on the floor. She slipped her hands down his chest, over his wrinkled, dirty uniform, and slid her arms around his waist.

"I've spent weekends with your father," she said quietly, looking up at him. "I—he taught me how to fix cars, we finished yours for you," she admitted. "It was soothing—I was…debating going to see him this weekend," she faltered. "I cut myself off from him, lately."

"He told me," Gibbs said gruffly, catching a strand of her hair in his hand. He tangled it around his finger, and set his jaw, eyeing her intently.

She licked her lips, thinking of what else had happened—what he had missed since he went off the grid.

Her lips shook.

"Ike died," she said softly. She blinked, and her lashes were suddenly full of tears. "I—Dad had to put him down. I was going to take Banquo back to my house—but your father wanted to keep him," she admitted fondly. She bit her lip, and tried not to blink—she wanted to keep from crying so badly.

She took a deep breath.

"Jethro," she said quietly, looking at his lips, and then into his eyes. "You're the one," she murmured, relenting. "I want you to know that. I'm—I'm still young, and I—I still have things to work through—my father is still married to a woman who left him twelve years ago, and I need to work through that—and I want to know your father better, and I want you to have a better relationship with him but," she broke off, and licked her lips.

"It's a gut feeling, Jen," he said hoarsely.

"That's the thing," she whispered. She moved one hand to her temple, and touched her skin lightly. "It's logic."

She didn't understand now—why she ever though the two couldn't go hand in hand.

He gave her a look, and she lifted her shoulders.

"If there are no logical impediments, then it stands that I have to operate on gut feeling—they're complements; logic and instinct," she licked her lips. "You're all instinct—and I'm logic."

It was so unbelievably clear.

He pushed his hand through her hair, and pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers gently, possessively—passionately.

"I missed you, Jen," he choked hoarsely. "Damn, I missed you."

She pressed herself against him, breathing him in. Her cheek rested against something thick under his ACU jacket, and she pulled back. He glanced down—and then shifted, reaching up to put his hand inside. He rummaged around, and showed her, in his hand—the Army bracelet, and the diamond necklace—both worse for wear, but both back home safe.

She laughed huskily, and reached for them, her hand moving against his eagerly. She slipped both of them into her palm, stroking them with her fingers, and he moved his hand into his chest again—

-and pulled out her copy of _Macbeth_, faded and burned, torn and tarnished, and imbedded with a bullet.

Her breath caught in her throat.

"It's not that thick of a book, Jethro," she whispered, horrible images flashing through her mind.

He snorted, and flipped through it, showing her how deeply imbedded the bullet was—and he smirked.

"The bullet ricocheted off a chair, first," he said, "didn't come at me hard."

"A chair?" she managed hoarsely.

He nodded.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "The chair I was shovin' in a door to keep 'em back."

Jenny covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes widening—he'd held off the Taliban with a chair.

"I reckon I owe your old man a thank you," Gibbs said gruffly.

Clutching her bracelet and necklace in hand, she rose on tiptoes and kissed him again, slipping the bracelet onto her wrist, and then slipping the necklace back into his hands—because she wasn't ready _yet_.

They had more battles to fight, more things to overcome—they were on a high now, reunited, but he'd have demons to fight, and more deployments to face, and she had her own obstacles to confront first—and the diamond on that necklace would be the trophy at the end.

He took the necklace; she reached for her book.

In a move that threw her back to the summer she was seventeen-years-old, he held it out of her reach. He smirked at her, that devilish, slightly arrogant, and warm smirk that had charmed her when she first saw it, and he dangled the Scottish play out of reach.

He said, in that gruff, deep drawl:

"You can have it back the day you marry me."

* * *

_epilogue i_  
_february_  
_2009_

* * *

_._


End file.
